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Digitized by the Internet Archive 
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https://archive.org/details/redblossomsstoryOOrose 


RED BLOSSOMS 





“Just tell me dear, do you care?” 


Page 219 


RED BLOSSOMS 


A Story of Western India 


By 
ISABEL BROWN ROSE 


Of the American Maratht Mission 
Sholapur, Bombay Presidency, India 
Author of “Our Parish in India” 





New York CHICAGO 


Fleming H. Revell Company 


LONDON AND EDINBURGH 
a OF PRINCETH ,; 


5 
A af re | 1998 f 
| VEX By th ye ; 


Copyright, McMxxv, by 
FLEMING H. REVELL COMPANY 


Printed in the United States of America 


New York: 158 Fifth Avenue 
Chicago: 17 North Wabash Ave. 
London: 21 Paternoster Square 
Edinburgh: 75 Princes Street 


TO 
WILLIAM AND MARGARET GRAHAM BROWN 
WHO STILL WALK AND TALK WITH ME 
UNDER THE RED BLOSSOMS 
IN THE PLEASANT GARDEN OF MEMORY 





XXII. 


Contents 


THE Bay or Biscay-O! 

EXTRACT FROM A VERY PRIVATE 
DIARY 

SHIPBOARD Ee RS ee 

THE END oF THE VOYAGE 

New FRIENDS . : 

THE REDOUBTABLE Miss ee ' 

First IMPRESSIONS : 

FroM DIFFERENT POINTS OF Wana : 

THE Heat AND BURDEN OF THE Day 


A RESPITE . : td 
RutH ALEXANDER TO THE eens 
EXPLANATIONS Ma VASE at 
In THE CooL GREEN Woops OF 
MAHABLESH WAR 


THE GARDEN Party . 
THE New VENTURE . 
Rain! 
A Poor RicH Watt AN BSS), 
A REVELATION AND A RESOLUTION . 
THe RicH MERCHANT AND His 
HEIR 
“* PROSERPINE ” 
BROTHER : 
A PAGE FROM INDIAN TEE : 
IN THE OLp City oF VICTORY 
T 


AND Her Bic 


8 


XXIII. 
XXIV. 
XXV. 
XXVI. 
XXVIT. 
XXVIII. 


XXIX. 
XXX. 
XXXI, 
OND 


CONTENTS 


LAIFECAND URGOVE tare aonicts wh Gee are oe ne 
MARCHING |ORDERS OP iy ue aE 
Mary ANNE ELIzABETH PERKINS . 227 
THE WHEELS OF *LIMBUEoCr a. eae 
Tee PARTINGIOFNTHE) WAVSiLie teem coo 
Miss PERKINS GIVES A BIT OF HER 
MIND Re yV te mie tata eee ta Note Aer | 
A New Batcu or Patients .. . 255 
IN THE GREEN Woops AGAIN . . 260 
THE MESSAGE Wie ican een ee ee fal 


THE ‘PEACEFUL: GARDEN. 2-4 Ee ere 


I 
THE BAY OF BISCAY-O! 


LUE-GREY sky above. Blue-grey sea 
B below. Monstrous mountains of white- 


crested water trouncing the boat up and 
down, backwards and forwards, from side to side; 
towering above it in titanic triumph as it sinks 
to the bottom of a trough; gurgling and grum- 
bling beneath it in futile fury when, with a 
prodigious creaking and cracking, it clambers 
clumsily out of reach. Ropes rattling. Chains 
clanking. Beams straining and shivering. Swish, 
swish. Thud, thud. Flap, flap. 

The dreaded Bay of Biscay had prostrated 
most of the passengers of the good ship City of 
Timbuctoo. Only one lady had courage to pace 
the deck as usual, and she was immensely enjoy- 
ing her lonely peregrination. The storm exhila- 
rated her. It inspired her. With feet firmly 
planted on the capricious deck, with head and 
body poised to resist the gusts of wind that 
flapped her coat about her and threatened to carry 
off her hat, she looked exalted, heroic—a very 


modern version of some ancient Greek statue of 
9 


10 RED BLOSSOMS 


Victory. She felt an extraordinary surge of per- 
sonal power, as if it were her hand that were 
guiding the ship to safety, as if her volition were 
sufficient to override the elements. Perhaps, she 
reflected, there might be within her an unsuspected 
fund of will-power that had never yet been called 
into play in a life that had been outwardly placid, 
uneventful, and restricted. Her father certainly 
had not lacked will-power. And his daughter un- 
consciously straightened herself in the pride of her 
heritage. 

Just then a gigantic wave caught the vessel 
amidships. The deck abruptly assumed an angle 
of thirty-five degrees. And the supposedly in- 
domitable young goddess was ignominiously pre- 
cipitated against a passenger who was standing 
with his back propped to the wall of the music 
saloon. He held her arm to steady her while, 
apologizing and confused, she groped with her 
right hand for the elusive rail. 

“You don’t seem to mind this rough weather,” 
remarked her rescuer with a friendly grin. ‘“ You 
surely must be an experienced sailor.” 

“Tt’s sheer good luck. It isn’t experience,” 
gasped Dorothy Maxwell, as she involuntarily 
staggered towards him again. 

“Tf youre really going to walk round the deck, 
I think I’d better come with you. You might get 
blown overboard, you know. But the wind can’t 
take liberties with me,” and the tall, heavy man 


THE BAY OF BISCAY-O! 11 


squared his broad shoulders and stepped over to 
Dorothy’s right. 

She was nonplussed. In her panting, wind- 
blown condition, the little air of aloofness which 
in college days had been the despair of presump- 
tuous admirers and which had gained her the nick- 
name of ‘Our Lady of Ice,’ had for the present 
completely deserted her. There was nothing for 
it but to let this master of the situation accom- 
pany her; so she started out again as steadily as 
possible, and fearful lest she once more bombard 
him. 

But the violence of the wind and her own shy- 
ness made any intelligent conversation impossible. 
They could only shout at each other staccato re- 
marks about the weather and the ship. So, after 
a couple of strenuous rounds, Dorothy Maxwell 
pleaded fatigue, escaped into the saloon, and then, 
with an unreasonableness that is supposed to be 
the prerogative of her sex, she began to regret 
that she had not taken better advantage of the 
fortuitous encounter with this fellow-passenger, 
Major Sutherland, whom she had heard described 
as one of the finest men in the Indian Medical 
Service. 

But Fate and the Major were kind. The wind 
abated during the day, and when Dorothy was in- 
vited for a stroll after dinner she accepted without 
hesitation. 

‘““Didn’t you say this morning that you weren’t 


12 RED BLOSSOMS 


an experienced sailor? ” began the Major, as he 
fell into step beside her on the now comparatively 
tranquil deck. 

“This is my first voyage to India.” 

“I envy you your sensations. I love the sea 
and shipboard, but one can never summon up 
quite the same transports of delight that make the 
first voyage so unforgetable.” 

‘““A good many passengers weren’t feeling very 
special transports of delight to-day, I’m afraid.” 

“That’s true. Poor things! But, you know, 
quite a lot of people, especially ladies, go to bed 
at Liverpool, and simply don’t expect to be able 
to get up till they are through the Bay.” 

“The poor old Bay has a pretty bad reputation 
to live up to, hasn’t it? ” 

“It has. You remember the old ballad? ” and 
the Major sang over softly a verse of “ The Bay 
of Biscay-o!”. ‘‘ Well, my cabin mate, who is 
quite prostrate, was telling me this morning that 
he always used to wonder why it should be ‘ The 
Bay of Biscay-o!’. Now he understands the ‘0’ 
perfectly! ” 

Dorothy laughed delightedly. 

“You see,” continued the Major, “this poor 
fellow was positively looking forward to a bad 
time—so of course he got it. In this queer world 
most folks get pretty well what they expect.” 

“Then perhaps I am perfectly well because I 
never expected to be anything else.” 


THE BAY OF BISCAY-O! 13 


‘“There’s a great deal in that. Psychology is 
half the battle.” 

“Then you don’t consider seasickness a purely 
nervous affection? ” 

“No, I can’t say I agree with that theory.” 

“Neither do I—entirely. But Professor Giles, 
one of our leading American nerve specialists, 
holds it absolutely. He gave us instances—any 
amount of them—where it had been cured, or pre- 
vented, by mere suggestion.” 

“Professor Giles? ” Here they had to fall into 
single file in order to pass a group of noisy pas- 
sengers who were trying, by means of a screeching 
gramophone, to forget their recent infelicity. ‘‘ Let 
me see,” continued the Major reminiscently, as he 
resumed his place, ‘“‘ you don’t by any chance mean 
John George Plenderleith Giles? ”’ 

‘“That’s his name. Do you know him? ” 

‘‘ Ra-ther—or at least I did. He and I were 
classmates at Edinburgh University. We took 
Pathology together. But I haven’t seen him since 
the day we were ‘capped.’ Do you know him 
well? ” 

“Not personally. I took one of his classes.” 

“Really? How much of a medical course did 
you take? ” 

“ The full course.” 

“You do surprise me. You are only down as 
‘Miss Maxwell’ on the passenger list.” 


14 RED BLOSSOMS 


“Of course. A degree is only for professional 
purposes, not social.” 

“Well, I declare. You must pardon me, but 
really, you don’t look in the least like a lady doc- 
tor. My pride in character reading is sorely hurt. 
I rather fancy my ability in that direction.” 

‘“ This is awfully interesting. Please tell me who 
or what you thought I was.” 

“You won’t be offended? ” 

“I certainly won't.” 

They were passing under one of the deck lamps. 
The man glanced at the face of the girl pacing be- 
side him. Her expression was one of genuine 
interest, without a trace, as far as he could judge, 
of self-consciousness. So he plucked up courage 
to proceed. 

“To be frank,” said he, ‘‘ I thought you were 
just about twenty.” 

‘““Good guess,” laughed Dorothy. ‘‘ You were 
only six years off.” 

‘“‘ And I thought you were just out of a finishing 
school—a Young Ladies’ Seminary affair, you 
know. I’ve been trying to decide between a school 
in Switzerland and a convent in Belgium! And, 
of course, I presumed that you were going out to 
be with your parents in India.” 

The smile faded quickly off Dorothy’s face. “ I 
wish I were,” she said at length, and a little un- 
steadily. ‘‘ They both died in India when I was 
two years old.” 


THE BAY OF BISCAY-O! 15 


‘““T beg your pardon,” said the Major remorse- 
fully. ‘‘ What a blundering fool I am!” 

“Don’t worry,” replied Dorothy. ‘“ But please 
do tell me what I ought to look like, seeing I’m not 
a chit of a schoolgirl, as you supposed, but a 
grown-up woman, and a doctor at that. You have 
made me very curious.” 

“Oh, you ought to have dowdy clothes, and 
immense spectacles, and an air of unmistakably 
superior wisdom.” 

Dorothy laughed. ‘‘ You mean that I ought to 
look like the blue-stocking of the Victorian age? ” 

‘“‘ Something after that style.” 

‘“‘ But educated women have got over that affec- 
tation long ago.” | 

‘‘T suppose they have. But in my student days 
there were a lot of women ‘ medicals ’ who affected 
that sort of thing. They didn’t have their classes 
along with us, thank goodness, but when they met 
us poor mere males on the street, they would give 
us a glance of withering contempt that made us 
realize what worms we were.” 

“Too bad! But you must have met lots of 
sensible women doctors since then.” 

“Lots of them. But that type seems to have 
got so firmly fixed in my youthful mind, that even 
now, in middle age, I can’t help being surprised 
when I find a woman doctor who doesn’t look 
like one.” 

‘““T see. Well, I don’t wear spectacles because 


16 RED BLOSSOMS 


my eyesight is perfect. And I can’t possibly look 
superior, for I’m only just a greenhorn.” 

“You’re an exceptional greenhorn. What makes 
a greenhorn a greenhorn? The fact that he 
doesn’t know it! Ha, ha! There’s hope for you, 
I see. Most young folks who come to India feel 
sure they know far better about everything than 
those who’ve lived there for years. They think 
we’re all old fogies, out of date long ago, and that 
it’s their duty to turn things inside out.” 

“And what happens? ” 

“It depends. Some of them grow sensible— 
usually through hard experience. Some of them 
get turned inside out themselves.”’ 

“And the others? ” 

‘““Oh, the utterly obstreperous ones—the ‘ I- 
know-better-and-won’t-be-fooled ’’ type, they usu- 
ally die off quite soon and leave us in peace.” 

‘Dear me, that sounds melancholy.” 

‘Yes, indeed. You’d better watch out,” and 
they both laughed. 

Just then a passenger, white and shaky, strug- 
gled out of the hatchway they were passing. ‘ Oh, 
here’s my friend, Mrs. Talbot,” cried Dorothy. 
They hastened forward to assist her to a deck- 
chair; the Major was introduced and soon took his 
leave; and Dorothy Maxwell devoted herself to 
cheering up her rather forlorn companion, by re- 
peating as much of her recent conversation as she 
could remember. 


II 
EXTRACT FROM A VERY PRIVATE DIARY 


SUEZ CANAL, 
November 17, 1913. 


EAR CoMRADES: 
1) As usual I come to you when deeply 


stirred. I have just been on deck, watch- 
ing with unspeakable emotion the slowly passing 
landscape. 

Here and there a palm tree broke the flat line 
of the shore. The mystic moonlight half-revealed, 
half-concealed the outline of the distant hills. It 
played on the waters. It mingled with the rays 
from our searchlight. It silhouetted indistinctly 
the craft tied up in the Canal to let us pass, and the 
big Russian vessel following closely in our wake, 
with its quaint, dragon-like anchors at the bow. 

I tried to picture the majestic ruins hid by the 
distance and the darkness, and the treasures of 
antiquity which the caves of the rock and the 
depths of the earth still hide from the curious eye 
of modern man. I imagined the proud kings with 
their armies marching east or west to conquest; 
then the broken columns of refugees fleeing across 
the sands, the riderless horses, the battered chari- 
ots, the dejected gangs of prisoners in chains. 

17 


18 RED BLOSSOMS 


Egyptian, Semitic, Phoenician, Assyrian, Ethiopian, 
Greek, Roman—all who had loved and lusted for 
the fleshpots of the land of the Pharaohs—they all 
suddenly became real to me. 

Then I tried to pierce the darkness still farther, 
and see across the desert that leads to the home 
of the Master; and He immediately loomed out 
distinctly as an historical fact, as well as a spirit- 
ual factor. And 1 thrilled at the thought of the 
heritage which that dim land had given the world. 
The kings and their glory are laid in the dust, but 
from that very ground has blossomed red a new 
ideal of love and service. 

Then I tried to feel how you two must have felt 
when you came through the Canal, ’way back in 
85. Was it moonlight, I wonder? And did you 
stand on deck awed and inspired as I was to-night, 
and talk of the new life you were to live in India? 
I am glad you could not know how short it was to 
be, nor that you were to leave a lonely little girl to 
mourn for you. 

And, dear ones, I don’t mind telling you that I 
am awtully lonely. I always have been. And I’ve 
always had to bottle up my feelings and pretend I 
hadn’t any. People think me cold and stiff and 
unemotional. So I am—on the outside! But you 
understand. You always do. When I was a little 
girl and troubled, especially when Great-aunt Pene- 
lope was hard on me, I used to shut myself up in 
my room and gaze and gaze and gaze at your pic- 


A VERY PRIVATE DIARY 19 


tures in my locket. I would turn them over in my 
hot little hand, and ask you how could you leave 
me so lonely? And I always felt comforted, some- 
how. You seemed to understand and to be 
near me. 

And even now, when I am grown to woman’s 
estate, the longing for you is sometimes so great 
that I can hardly bear it. You see, I’ve never 
really loved anybody on earth. All my capacity 
for affection has been expended on you two dear 
presences. All my interests and ambitions have 
been concentrated on the possibility of coming out 
to India to carry on your work. I can’t remem- 
ber any time when I hadn’t that ambition. I felt 
myself a child unique, a child with a purpose, a 
child consecrated and set apart from the mundane 
interests of other children. Then, when I was 
older, I felt a good-natured contempt for the love 
affairs of my girl friends. You see, I felt that J 
had something finer in store than to marry a very 
ordinary man, lead a very ordinary life, and bring 
up very ordinary children. That was all quite re- 
spectable and laudable, and eminently useful, no 
doubt, but not to be compared to my vocation! 
Of course, I recognize now what an objectionable 
little prig I was, and how much I’ve missed by 
being so “ superior,”’ but I have at least kept my 
ambition pure and my purpose single. 

I have had so many bewildering impressions 
since I sailed out of New York harbour, and 


20 RED BLOSSOMS 


shocks, too. I’m puzzled and distressed over the 
Eurasian problem which I have just run up against. 
That remark, by the way, was more literally true 
than I noticed, for I actually run up against the 
problem half a dozen times per day in the shape 
of my bulky “ stable-mate”’ as she calls herself. 
This Mrs. Duff is really a most extraordinary per- 
sin, kindhearted and affectionate, but with a loud 
voice, loud mannets, loud complexion, and loud 
jewellery. She and another Eurasian (I ought to 
call them by their new official name of Anglo- 
Indian) are absolutely ostracized. The other day 
a young officer was looking for some one to play 
his accompaniment. I ventured to suggest Mrs. 
Duff, who is a brilliant pianist. He stared at me 
with the most profound pity. “ It’s easily seen,” 
he remarked, “ that you’ve never been in India 
before. We don’t want to introduce the tar-brush 
into our concert, thank you.” And he walked off, 
looking so contemptuous that I almost felt as if he 
had struck me. 

And yet, to tell you the truth, it isn’t easy, ex- 
cept in theory, to be brotherly towards all men, 
and still less, sisterly towards all women. Mrs. 
Duff at least once a day refers to the fact that her 
father was pure Scotch, and her mother a Span- 
iard—by way of explaining away her tinge. If I 
am in the least friendly she immediately becomes 
familiar, and she continually intrudes with or with- 
out the slightest invitation. When she sees Mrs. 


A VERY PRIVATE DIARY 21 


Talbot, Major Sutherland and myself sitting talk- 
ing together, as we frequently do, she will drag 
her deck-chair along and settle down beside us for 
what she calls ‘“‘a cosy chat!” She talks inanities 
—chitter-chatter, chitter-chatter without a break 
and at the pitch of her raucous voice. We were 
just about desperate when the Major hit on a splen- 
did plan. He found a secluded corner in beside the 
lifeboats. Mrs. Talbot and I just manage to 
squeeze through the rails; he steps over them; but 
Mrs. Duff is too fat to do either! So we are merci- 
fully immune. 

And then, dear ones, my second great problem 
is the number of personal tragedies that have come 
to my notice recently. My best shipboard friend 
is Mrs. Talbot, the widow of a missionary who died 
at sea on his way home for his first furlough. A 
month later she lost her only child. At first she 
was indignant and rebellious. “It isn’t easy,” she 
said to me, “‘to see your house of life burn to 
ashes.” But by and by she felt she was needed in 
India, so she came back alone and is doing literary 
work in Poona. She has the most beautiful, serene 
face I have ever seen. I am not at all versed in 
character-reading, but even I can tell that it be- 
tokens a depth and breadth and stability of char- 
acter which only poignant suffering can create. 

Major Sutherland has suffered too. His fiancée 
took typhoid during the voyage out and died soon 
after landing. I suppose it is this personal sorrow 


22 RED BLOSSOMS 


that accounts for the wrinkles round his kind blue 
eyes, and for his chivalry towards all women, even 
tantalizing Mrs. Duff. I sometimes sit and think 
over these things, and work myself into abject 
misery. I can just feel it all, as if it were mine, 
and I am thankful that I can never be called upon 
to suffer any of these ordeals except in imagina- 
tion. In fact, I sometimes wish I had not been 
blessed with a Celtic imagination. It hurts. 


I thought of that when we started out from 
Liverpool. I had been feeling lonely and rather 
sorry for myself because there was no one to wave 
me good-bye. But when I saw the cruel partings 
on the quay—people tearing themselves away from 
an integral part of their very life—I was im- 
mensely thankful to be spared that agony. You 
see, dear ones, there is no one in whose life my ab- 
sence will leave a blank, no one to whom I am 
vitally necessary, no one to whom my coming in 
and my going out really matters. It’s lonely, of 
course, awfully lonely; but one of the compensa- 
tions of being lonely is just this, that Fate can’t 
take away from me what I never had. 

Well, comrades mine, I feel lots better just be- 
cause I’ve spilled over. I must quit philosophiz- 
ing and get off to bed. This has been a wonderful 
day. My head is one jumble of all I saw in Port 
Said—the crowds in the narrow streets; the varie- 
ties of types and colours; the delicately graven 


A VERY PRIVATE DIARY 23 


gold and silver ware; the exquisite Maltese lace; 
the mosaics and enamels and ostrich feathers and 
mother-of-pearl; the fragile shawls and scarfs; the 
ebony and ivory; the quaint cloth copies of figures 
in ancient tomb paintings; and the cheap glitter of 
Birmingham-factory-made toys and trinkets! 

And now I must share with you a wonderful 
secret that I discovered to-night—a wonderful 
finish to a wonderful day. After I had stood a 
long time on deck, watching the scenery and medi- 
tating on it and many other things, I took a stroll 
and stumbled on Mrs. Talbot and Major Suther- 
land sitting chatting in a secluded corner. They 
welcomed me and made me sit down beside them, 
but it had all flashed on me in a moment. Perhaps 
it was the romantic atmosphere of the Canal by 
moonlight that opened my eyes to the romance 
nearer at hand. I don’t know how I can have been 
so stupid as not to notice it before. It is all so 
plain now. They are splendidly suited to each 
other in age (I think about 45 and 40), and also 
in tastes. It is a liberal education to hear them 
talk on India and things Indian. And then, as I 
have just mentioned above, they have both suffered 
deeply. Oh, I am so happy. And it’s partly a 
selfish happiness, for Mrs. Talbot is fond of me 
and wants to keep in touch with me, so perhaps 
her husband could be a kind of big brother to me. 
I’ve always wanted a big brother dreadfully, and 
Major Sutherland would make an ideal one, he’s 


24 RED BLOSSOMS 


so big and kind and dependable. But when I 
realize now how often I’ve been in the way, I blush 
with chagrin. I’ve thought Mrs. Duff an intruder, 
and I’ve been far worse myself! How often we 
three have sat talking together, Major Sutherland 
puffing away at his ubiquitous pipe, Mrs. Talbot 
with a bit of sewing, and I just sitting with idle 
hands, drinking in every word! How good and 
patient they have been with me! Well, I’ll be most 
judicious in future and make myself scarce. 

And now, good-bye for the present. In just ten 
days I shall tread on the land you trod on. In 
just ten days I shall be on the threshold of my life’s 
work. Be near and bless me with your presences. 

Your little girl, 
DorotTHY. 


III 
SHIPBOARD ACQUAINTANCE 


HE quondam interloper’s determination to 

keep strictly out of the way of the incipi- 

ent romance was materially assisted by an 

incident which occurred a couple of days after- 

wards. She noticed that the Captain came in very 

late for dinner, and was eagerly questioned by the 

passengers at his table. She wondered what the 

matter could be. Major Sutherland explained 
things later. 

‘You'll be sorry to hear,” he began, as he joined 
her in the music saloon, “ that there’s been a nasty 
little accident on board—not serious, fortunately.” 

‘“ A passenger, or one of the crew? ” 

‘““A lady passenger. She’d been resting in the 
top bunk, and was climbing down to dress for din- 
ner. She doesn’t know quite what happened. She 
thinks she can’t have hooked the ladder properly 
on to the rail. But, anyway, when she put her 
foot on it, it swung to the side, and she crashed to 
the floor.” 

‘““ Head hurt? ” asked Dorothy with professional 
interest. 

“No. She saved herself with her hands, but 


she’s sprained one wrist and strained the other, 
25 


26 RED BLOSSOMS 


and twisted her ankle—a horrible way to fall, espe- 
cially for a heavy woman. She can’t use either 
hand, of course; they’re both bandaged up. She’s 
as helpless as a baby—and as irritable.” 

“Poor thing, I’m sorry for her. Is there a good 
nurse on board? ” 

‘“‘ Unfortunately, the only trained nurse on board 
absolutely refuses to have anything to do with the 
case—says she’s travelling in a private capacity. 
As a matter of fact, she’s going out to marry a 
wealthy planter.” 

“T call that pretty mean.” 

‘So do I. The two poor stewardesses are nearly 
run off their feet as it is, but they’ll do their best. 
Of course, it isn’t ideal. What’s more, the other 
passenger in the cabin is making a deuce of a row 
—refuses to sleep there because the patient is 
moaning.” 

“Tsn’t there a sick-room, or even a spare cabin?” 

“Not one. The ship is absolutely packed. 
Poor Captain, he’s at his wits’ end.” 

““T thought he looked worried,” replied Dorothy. 
“But the thing’s perfectly simple. Ill change 
bunks with the ‘ stable-mate,’ as Mrs. Duff would 
say, and then [ can look after the patient.” 

Major Sutherland looked both surprised and 
nonplussed. He evidently had not thought of that 
solution. ‘‘ You’re a first-rate brick to suggest 
such a thing,” he said at length. ‘It certainly 
would solve all difficulties.” 


SHIPBOARD ACQUAINTANCE 27 


“Yl be happy to do it,” said Dorothy simply. 
“In fact, it’s the obvious thing to do.” 

‘““T’m worried on one point. I think I ought to 
be perfectly frank, and warn you that the lady in 
question, Mrs. Sandeman, has a very strong preju- 
dice against missionaries. She might even be rude 
to you.” 

“Ts she your left-hand neighbour at table? ” 

cc Ves: : 

‘“‘ Ah, then it was she who made that disparag- 
ing remark about missionaries the other night.” 

“T’m sorry you heard it. I was hoping you 
hadn’t. Please give her the credit for not intend- 
ing it to be heard, except by the Captain and me.” 

“TI do. But it just happened to come in a lull 
in the room, and we missionaries at our table sim- 
ply could not help overhearing it. And we all felt 
most grateful to you for saying what you did and 
then turning the conversation.”’ 

“Oh, that was nothing. I was perfectly sincere 
when I said that I counted some missionaries 
among my best friends. I was thinking particu- 
larly of a Mr. and Mrs. Alexander of Bombay— 
magnificent people. I hope you can meet them 
some day.” 

‘““T should like to. But do tell me what has 
made Mrs. Sandeman so bitter.” 

“One unfortunate experience years ago with one 
unfortunate type of missionary—a fierce little 
fanatic of a woman who came over to us one day 


28 RED BLOSSOMS 


as we were playing bridge, tore some of our cards 
across, called it the devil’s own game, and told us 
we were all going to—well, the bad place, you 
know, but she gave it its full Miltonic appellation.” 

“That was dreadful,’ said Dorothy. “ But 
Mrs. Sandeman shouldn’t judge all missionaries 
from one bigoted case like that.” 

“Of course she shouldn’t. But unfortunately 
she’s one of those people who judge a whole species 
by one specimen. However abnormal it may be, 
to her it immediately becomes a ‘ type.’ It’s a very 
common fault.” 

“Vm afraid ’m guilty of it myself,” confessed 
Dorothy. “ I’m convinced that all Eurasians are 
built after the pattern of Mrs. Duff.” 

‘Pretty tough on them, poor things! ‘They’ve 
enough to stand without that. But the best cure 
for that sort of prejudice is to get to know a par- 
ticularly charming specimen of the same species. 
That balances impressions, don’t you see? ” 

‘““T see. Well, couldn’t you get Mrs. Sandeman 
to meet your friends the Alexanders, as an anti- 
dote? ” ) 

‘““Tve tried, but it’s absolutely no use. She’s 
irrevocably fixed in her prejudices now.” 

‘“ Well, I don’t mind her prejudices, if you think 
she could put up with me. I'll promise faithfully 
not to tear up any playing-cards I may happen to 
find lying round!” 

The Major laughed. “I don’t believe she’d 


SHIPBOARD ACQUAINTANCE 29 


mind anything you did so long as she got a nurse.” 

“Well, please go and fix it all up, so that I can 
move a few things to her cabin for to-night.” 

‘“Youw’re quite sure you want to? Very few doc- 
tors care to act as nurse.” 

‘“‘ Tm one of the few, then. Please hurry up.” 

‘* The Lord hath delivered up thine enemy into 
thy hand this day,’ ”” quoted the Major as he de- 
parted with a mischievous grin. 

Shipboard life often brings out the worst, and 
the best, in human nature. Mrs. Sandeman’s 
cabin-mate raged and fumed at being transferred 
to an inferior cabin, and especially at having to 
share it with an Eurasian. She vowed that she 
would demand a refund on her passage money, and 
that she would take good care that neither she nor 
any of her friends ever travelled by that line again. 
On the other hand, Dorothy Maxwell was installed 
as volunteer nurse to an outwardly cranky but in- 
wardly grateful patient. She assumed her new role 
with a simplicity that refused to see anything un- 
usual in her offer. Secretly she was elated at this 
excellent excuse for leaving her two friends severely 
alone, and she saw comparatively little of them for 
the rest of the voyage. In the cabin she tried to 
behave like the hypothetical model child. She was 
seen but seldom heard, and she rarely spoke unless 
spoken to. 

“Dr. Maxwell,” said Mrs. Sandernan one day 


30 RED BLOSSOMS 


suddenly, as the doctor-nurse made a neat finish to 
the bandaging. ‘‘ Who and what are you? ” 

Dorothy laughed. “A very plain, ordinary 
woman,” she replied; “ by origin a Scoto-Anglo- 
Americo-Canadian. I hope you don’t take me for 
an evil spirit.” 

‘“‘'You’ve been my good angel so far. But I’m 
puzzled. I don’t in the least understand you. 
I’ve studied you, but I can’t make you out. You’re 
an entirely new type to me. I know it’s impolite 
to ask personal questions; but really, ’m simply 
consumed with vulgar curiosity.” 

Dorothy was highly amused. Her patient was 
evidently feeling much better. 

‘“‘ Ask me all the questions you like,” she replied 
gaily. ‘‘ I haven’t one secret.” 

“Lucky girl! Very few women can say that. 
But, to begin with, what kind of parents have you 
who’d let you come out as a missionary? ” asked 
Mrs. Sandeman, with an emphasis on the last word 
that spoke volumes. 

‘“ My parents haven’t let me come, they’ve made 
me come.” 

“Made you come? What a crime!”’ 

‘““Oh, no,” said Dorothy quietly. ‘‘ My father 
was a missionary doctor in India, but both he and 
my mother died—of cholera—when I was two 
years old.” 

Mrs. Sandeman was gazing at the speaker in 
amazement. 


SHIPBOARD ACQUAINTANCE 31 


“And you see,” continued Dorothy, “since I 
was a child they seem to have been calling to me 
to come and take up their work. I’ve had no 
other ambition in life, in fact, no alternative. I’ve 
just lived for this.” 

A long pause. 

“Then are you going to the place where your 
father worked? ” asked the older woman at length. 

Dorothy’s face fell. ‘“‘ Not just yet. I was ter- 
ribly disappointed to find that there was no open- 
ing at present for a woman doctor in my father’s 
mission. There will probably be later on. But I 
stumbled on to an offer in a private venture, at 
Anamabad, where one lone woman has been hold- 
ing out for twenty-five years—twenty-five years, 
mind you—absolutely alone, and building up 
schools and an orphanage. That’s a pretty good 
stunt, don’t you think? ” 

‘““H’m, perhaps. But how long are you to be 
therer.’ 

‘““T’ve signed a five years’ agreement.” 

“Five years? But, my child, Anamabad is ab- 
solutely uncivilized. I don’t suppose there’s an- 
other white person besides that misguided woman 
you talk of. How will you stand it? Have you 
will-power enough? ” 

“Tf not, I'll have to develop it,” said Dorothy 
cheerfully. ‘‘ My father certainly had plenty.” 

““ How do you know that? You can’t remember 
him.” 


32 RED BLOSSOMS 


‘Let me tell you a story,” replied Dorothy with 
a smile, and she stood beside the berth and ticked 
off each item on her fingers. “ First, in 1885, a 
young Canadian named Peter Maxwell finished his 
medical course at Yale. Secondly, on the eve of 
sailing for India he paid a farewell visit to a col- 
lege friend in the little town of Sayton, Massa- 
chusetts. Thirdly, he there met Mehitabel Jeffer- 
son and fell in love with her on the spot. Fourthly, 
he bombarded her and her family and made them 
capitulate within a week. Fifthly, he wired an 
ultimatum to his Mission Board that he would take 
his bride with him to India or not go at all. 
Sixthly, Romance—or perhaps it was Common- 
sense—prevailed, and seventhly and lastly, within 
a fortnight from the day they first saw each other, 
Peter Maxwell and Mehitabel Jefferson, my father 
and mother, were married and started for India.” 

“ Bravo, bravo,” cried Mrs. Sandeman. ‘“ That 
Was ROMANCE, spelt in capitals. It’s so refreshing 
to hear that sort of thing in these prosaic days. 
I'd clap my hands if they weren’t bandaged up. 
Go on, Miss Maxwell, please go on and tell me all 
about yourself now.” 

And Dorothy, willingly enough, whiled away the 
time by telling her patient about her own rather 
lonely and uneventful childhood with her mother’s 
people in Sayton, Mass., then of her college days, 
and lastly of her recent visit to Scotland and to 


SHIPBOARD ACQUAINTANCE 33 


Lady Brixton, the patron of the private mission in 
Anamabad. 


On the eve of reaching Bombay, Major Suther- 
land came to the cabin to talk over arrangements 
for the patient’s transference on shore, and Doro- 
thy went up on deck. 

“What a splendid girl,” sighed Mrs. Sandeman. 

“Then you don’t disapprove of all missionaries, 
I perceive,” said her friend with a twinkle in his 
blue eye. 

“Tf they were all like her, nobody would dis- 
approve of them. No cant, no preaching, no hy- 
pocrisy, no self-righteousness. She’s a perfect 
lady, and a beauty too, with that wavy fair hair 
and those big grey eyes.” 

There was a pause. 

“And to think,’ she continued, “that that 
lovely girl is going to bury herself in a hole in the 
Deccan! It makes me positively sick.” 

‘A good many splendid girls do the same thing, 
and don’t regret it.” 

“Poor fools! But this girl—oh, I just want to 
take her up to Simla and dress her in some of my 
new frocks. She’d be the sensation of the season. 
The boys would go crazy over her.” 

‘‘ And she’d never know it. Those clear eyes of 
hers look at a man with much the same interest 
as at a wriggling microbe in the laboratory—a. 


34 RED BLOSSOMS 


curious but dangerous specimen, to be regarded 
from a safe distance.” | 

Mrs. Sandeman looked at the speaker quickly. 

“Ts that the way she regards you? ” she asked. 

Precisely,’ 

“Rather a unique experience for a man with 
Irish blood in him, I should imagine.” 

“Yes, it does rather take the starch out of one.” 

‘“T suppose she’s so obsessed with this idea of 
being a missionary, that she looks down on ordi- 
nary human beings from a superior height.”’ 

‘“‘ Partly, perhaps. But she’s had a lonely life, 
with this one fixed idea of being a missionary. In 
many ways she hasn’t really grown up yet. She 
has the outlook on life of a precocious child.” 

‘‘ And India is no place for a precocious child.” 

‘Indeed, no.” The Major was sitting on a 
camp stool by the berth. He continued tapping 
his knee with the magazine in his hand. It was 
evident that he, too, was apprehensive for the 
future of ‘the precocious child” in question. 
Then he suddenly laughed aloud. “ Pardon my 
smiling,’ he said. ‘“‘I know [’m awfully rude; 
but I never thought I’d live to see the day when 
you’d be worrying over the career of a missionary.” 

‘“‘ Horrid man,” said the patient, shaking a re- 
proving bandaged finger at him. ‘ But, you see, 
I’ve just discovered that there are missionaries and 
missionaries.” 

Major Sutherland laughed triumphantly. 


SHIPBOARD ACQUAINTANCE 35 


“JTt’s horribly unchivalrous of me, but I can’t 
resist the temptation of saying, ‘ I told you so.’ ” 

“Well, if you’d produced a specimen like this 
to show me, I’d have changed my mind long ago.” 

“My dear lady, Pve begged and begged and 
begged you to let me introduce the Alexanders— 
equally fine specimens.” 

“‘T don’t believe it, not fora moment. However, 
we'll not quarrel just now. I’m not up to it, and 
you’d get the best of any argument. You men- 
folks are all alike. Now, as long as I am well, I 
can manage John splendidly, but if I’m down with 
a headache—whew!—he can make black look 
white. By the way, I’ve also had to revise my 
ideas of American women.” 

“Of course Miss Maxwell is not strictly an 
American,” suggested the Major, who was enjoy- 
ing himself hugely. 

“True, but she’s lived in America since she was 
five years old, so her upbringing is certainly Ameri- 
can. I thought they all spoke slang at the pitch 
of the voice and through the nose.” 

PAtew doi 

“There were three dreadful American women in 
our party when we went through St. Peter’s. We 
couldn’t hear what the guide was saying, for they 
were always making silly remarks. They called 
the mosaics ‘ dandy,’ and the jewels in the sacristy 
were ‘just too cute,’ and St. Peter’s kissed- 
away toe was ‘too cunning for words.’ Ugh! I 


36 RED BLOSSOMS 


could have smacked them. And then, when we 
walked up towards the Pope’s Garden, they caught 
sight of a couple of his guards, in their weird uni- 
form, and they rushed over to them, twirled them 
round, and stood beside them turn about to get 
photographed. Abominable!” 

The Major laughed. 

“T agree with you. But all the same, it isn’t a 
bit fair to judge a whole nation by three iniquitous 
globe trotters, any more than it was fair to judge 
all missionaries by one objectionable specimen. 
Besides, if Miss Maxwell had been of the type 
you’ve just described, I shouldn’t have inflicted her 
on you.” 

‘‘ She’s so restful and reserved. She continually 
makes me think of a Bond Street establishment 
with just one or two exclusive models in the win- 
dow. They make you want to see what is inside; 
but even if you finally venture over the sacred 
threshold, you don’t get shown all the stock unless 
you’re a very privileged person.” 

“T think you’ve gauged Miss Maxwell pretty 
accurately. Few people get beyond the threshold.” 

‘““And you haven’t been one of the privileged 
fewr ” 

‘Indeed no. However,” continued the man, 
straightening himself up and tossing aside the 
magazine with which he had been playing, ‘“ let’s 
get to business. What about getting ashore to- 
morrow? Shall I go ahead and make arrange- 


SHIPBOARD ACQUAINTANCE 37 


ments, and then come back for you? I suppose 
there’s no possibility of John’s getting down to 
meet you? ” 

“‘ Just one thing more, before we talk of that. 
I’m in a fix, a social and moral and financial and 
—etiquettical, can I say?—fix. I can’t ask Miss 
Maxwell to accept money, but I must pay her in 
some way for her trouble. She’s been a thousand 
times better than any trained nurse J’ve ever had 
the misfortune to suffer from.” 

‘ What’s your own idea? ” 

“I thought of giving her something personal—a 
gold wrist-watch, for instance. She couldn’t refuse 
that.” 

“She probably would. Why not give her a 
cheque for her work? She'll certainly need dis- 
pensary equipment when she attempts medical 
work in that out-of-the-way Anamabad she’s 
going to.” 

“You horrid man! When you know I don’t be- 
lieve in missions!” 

“But you evidently believe in Miss Maxwell—a 
very different thing. However, please yourself. 
You asked my opinion, you know.” 


IV 
THE END OF THE VOYAGE 


DIM, purplish-grey line breaks the hori- 
7 zon, making hearts stir and pulses leap. 
A little bride wonders if she will immedi- 

ately recognize the fiancé she has not seen for five 
years. A middle-aged woman thinks of the chil- 
dren left at home and the husband awaiting her 
here. A young couple dream of Utopia in this 
wonderful new land. Youths just entering Gov- 
ernment Service speculate as to which high posts 
they will fill twenty years hence. An Indian 
prince, after a long period of education and prepa- 
ration in England, thrills at sight of his native land. 
The grey line broadens. It develops protuber- 
ances. ‘Oh, there’s the Taj,” cries some one, as 
there looms into view the stately dome of the Taj 
Mahal Hotel. Then a clock tower appears; and 
domes and minarets, and a church spire; and lo, 
the dim outline has grown, as under a magician’s 
wand, into the island and town of Bombay, the 
gateway of India, holding behind its bars vast 
treasures of romance and mystery, folk-lore and 
fable, history, mythology, philosophy and poetry, 
glitter and glamour, tragedy and comedy—the goal 

38 


THE END OF THE VOYAGE 39 


of a thousand ambitions, the grave of as many 
hopes. 

Dorothy Maxwell leaned on the rail, watching 
the majestic progress of the big vessel as it groped 
its way alongside the quay. Her face was ani- 
mated as she looked here and there, trying to ab- 
sorb everything at once. Her eyes roamed over 
the wharf with its crowd of scurrying brown fig- 
ures in loin-cloth and turban, and the little groups 
of sahib folks in their white suits and sun-hats. 
When the handkerchiefs began to wave, she looked 
hopefully for some one who might answer to the 
description of Miss Perkins, viz., short and stout 
and with glasses. But not a sign of recognition 
in all that expectant assemblage seemed to be for 
her; and once again, in her unsentimental young 
life, she almost envied those who had had the 
temerity to involve themselves in the intricacies of 
human affections. It would be nice to think that 
some one had literally been counting the months, 
the weeks, the days, the very hours till her arrival; 
that some one had thought it worth while to take a 
three or four days’ journey, as no doubt several of 
those eager people had done, merely for the joy of 
seeing her at the first possible moment. Every one 
but herself, she imagined ruefully, seemed to have 
some connection in the waiting crowd. 

Mrs. Talbot was waving delightedly to a couple 
of young women. “Look,” she cried. ‘‘ Those 


40 RED BLOSSOMS 


are two of my colleagues in Poona—fine girls. 
How good of them to come down!” 

“Well, I don’t have two nice young ladies to 
come and meet me, but over there I see one of my 
best friends in India,” remarked Major Suther- 
land, as he smilingly returned the salute of an In- 
dian boy perched perilously near the water’s edge, 
his features blurred by one enormous, all-embrac- 
ing grin. ‘“‘ That’s Ratan, my bearer, and also my 
guide, philosopher and friend. I bet you he’s been 
haunting the dock for days. What about you, 
Miss Maxwell? You don’t see anybody that might 
be Miss Perkins, do you? ” | 

“No. But she wrote that she’d come down.” 

‘““T was almost hoping she wouldn’t turn up.” 

“You were? How dreadful of you! Why? ” 

‘‘ Well, you see, she’d probably rush you round 
shopping, and then carry you straight off to An- 
amabad; whereas you really ought to see some of 
the beauties of Bombay and some of the nice folk 
that live in it.” 

“T see. But if she doesn’t come, how would 
that help? ” 

‘It would be an excellent chance for you to 
meet my friends the Alexanders and stay with 
them.”’ 

“Stay with them? How could I foist myself on 
people who haven’t even heard of my existence? ” 

“That happens to be one of the peculiarities of 
India. One does just exactly that sort of thing, 


THE END OF THE VOYAGE 41 


especially in missionary circles. Now I positively 
hope and pray that Miss Perkins won’t appear.” 

Dorothy naturally felt quite cheered up. 

Amid much clatter and excitement, the three 
friends made their way down the gangway and 
stepped on to the sacred soil of India. Mrs. Tal- 
bot was affectionately seized by two eager young 
women. Ratan salaamed profoundly and touched 
his beloved master’s shiny brown shoes. But there 
was no welcome for Dorothy. 

‘““ Hallo, Miss Cochran,” cried Major Suther- 
land, shaking hands with a bright-faced young 
lady. ‘“ How good of you to come down and meet 
poor little me!” 

“Poor little you! Don’t be conceited. I’m 
after a Dr. Dorothy Maxwell.” 

“Here she is, then. Wasn’t it nice of me to 
have her all ready to hand over to you? ” 

“What luck!” cried Miss Cochran with great 
relief, as she and Dorothy were introduced. “TI 
expected I’d have to accost scores of passengers 
and find you only by a process of elimination. I’m 
awfully happy to welcome you to India. Last 
night I got a letter from a Miss Perkins, asking me 
to meet the boat this morning. I haven’t the 
slightest idea who or what Miss Perkins is, but we 
Y. W. C. A. folk are a sort of stand-by in an emer- 
gency like this. By the way, here’s a letter for 
you. It was enclosed in mine. Perhaps you’d bet- 


42 RED BLOSSOMS 


ter read it now, in case there are some special in- 
structions.” 

Dorothy excused herself, tore open the note, 
which was written in pencil on the poorest kind of 
note paper, and scanned it hastily: 


DEAR Dr. MAXWELL: 

I fully intended to come and meet you, but I 
haven’t been out of Anamabad for four years, and 
to-day so many things cropped up that I felt I 
could not get away. 

For one thing, my travelling expenses would be 
at least ten rupees (of course I would travel third 
class). It does not seem right to me to spend all 
that money just to come and meet you, when it 
would keep an Indian family for a month, or clothe 
six naked orphans, etc. So I will rather put it in 
the Lord’s work. 

Besides, Tommy has a bad cold, and I have just 
got a new opium baby that needs to be fed every 
two hours. So Iam asking the Y. W. to look after 
you. Bring the things on the enclosed list, and I 
shall expect you (D. V.) by the morning train on 
Friday. 

Yours truly, 
Mary ANNE ELIZABETH PERKINS. 


Dorothy was conscious of a spasm of disappoint- 
ment. It was so plain, she thought dejectedly, 
that Miss Perkins simply had not thought it worth 


THE END OF THE VOYAGE 48 


while to come two hundred miles to welcome the 
colleague she had been demanding for over twenty 
years. She handed the letter to Major Sutherland. 

“Bravo! Splendid!” he exclaimed as he fin- 
ished it, and Dorothy laughed in spite of herself. 
‘“‘ Now, look here, Miss Cochran, what did you in- 
tend to do with Miss Maxwell? ” 

“1m rather in a fix. The obvious thing would 
be to take her to our Y. W. C. A. Hostel, but we’re 
absolutely crammed at present. We’d need to put 
her in a room with two other girls.” 

“Oh, that would be quite all right,”’ said Doro- 
thy. “It will be only for one night, anyway.” 

“ve a far better plan to suggest, if I may,” 
quoth the Major. ‘“ Suppose we all run along first 
and see whether Mrs. Alexander can’t put up Miss 
Maxwell. I want them to meet anyway. And if 
she simply can’t or won’t, then we’ll fall back on 
your third of a room.” 

“Good idea! Come along,” agreed Miss Coch- 
ran, and they moved off through the crowd. 

“Good-bye, my dear,” said a voice at Dorothy’s 
elbow. It was Mrs. Talbot, who was being carried 
off in the opposite direction. ‘‘ Be sure to write 
me, and don’t forget to come and see me some 
time. You’ve a standing invitation to Poona, you 
know.” 

‘Oh, good-bye,” cried Dorothy. ‘I hate to say 
it. Yes, thanks, Ill write.” 

It was over in a moment. The friend of three 


44 RED BLOSSOMS 


happy weeks was snatched from her sight. But 
Dorothy felt puzzled and dazed. Why was not 
Major Sutherland escorting the person he was spe- 
cially interested in? And then it flashed on her 
that this was a little bit of diplomacy and she con- 
gratulated herself on not having blurted out any 
embarrassing question. 

As Dorothy Maxwell was whirled through the 
streets of Bombay, her mind was _ bewildered. 
Here was indeed a fancy fair. She gazed at weird 
figures in turned-up shoes, baggy white cotton 
trousers, nondescript coats, and peaked turbans; at 
a little man with a flowing white tunic and a flow- 
ing white beard; at another one with a dirty cotton 
cloth twisted round his legs and a long, tight- 
fitting pink satin coat reaching to his knees; at 
dainty females in brilliantly coloured garments 
with flimsy veils floating over their shoulders; at 
phantom forms enveloped from head to foot in 
white capes with only a slit for the eyes. And 
these all seemed to be jumbled up with electric 
street cars and motors and trucks and bullock- 
carts and fine stone buildings, and lines of trees, 
and an open park, and Indian nurses with peram- 
bulators. 

Then they left the Fort, the principal business 
section, and entered the native quarter. Here were 
tiny shops ridiculously like tin biscuit boxes turned 
over on their side. Heaps of different grains, to- 
bacco, sweetmeats and other commodities were dis- 


THE END OF THE VOYAGE 45 


played for the observation of the passer-by, the 
delectation of the ubiquitous fly, and the personal 
convenience of the shopkeeper. Squatting or lying 
full length at the side of his wares, he could stretch 
out and reach them and complete a full transaction 
without the trouble of getting on his feet. And the 
colouring! Every colour, and every shade of every 
colour, made up one startlingly effective polychro- 
matic whole. 

When the car was held up at a crossing, half an 
arm was thrust in under Dorothy’s nose. An ugly, 
leprous stump, it distressed her. The wail of 
‘“Baksheesh, Sahib. Baksheesh, Memsahib,” 
made her look out, and she saw a revolting young 
man rubbing his flat stomach with his one whole 
hand in token that it needed her pennies. Then 
just behind came a dirty blind woman led by a tiny 
child, with the same drawling cry for baksheesh. 
‘¢ Jao, jao,” cried the Major; but the whining con- 
tinued until the car moved on, unaffected by the 
near presence of an Indian policeman. His bril- 
liant yellow pancake of a cap set at a Jaunty angle, 
his navy blue coat and shorts, his bare brown legs 
and sandalled feet, these all seemed to ornament 
rather than to influence the scene; for he lolled 
comfortably against a lamp-post, blissfully and 
consciously unaware of any infringement of the 
law in his vicinity. 

“Horrors!” cried Dorothy, as she suddenly 
caught sight of a piano bobbing up and down on 


46 RED BLOSSOMS 


the heads of six running coolies; and she turned 
and strained her eyes through the celluloid win- 
dows of the car, to make sure that those slender 
necks did not snap under their appalling load. She 
almost lost her balance, for the car just then turned 
sharply in at a gate in a high wall, swung round a 
drive lined with strange trees and bushes, and came 
to a standstill under a porch in front of a large 
bungalow. 7 


V 
NEW FRIENDS 


“* ELL, I declare,” cried a pleasant voice 
\ I" from nowhere. ‘“ Billy, Betty, come 
quick. Here’s Uncle Pat,” and a 


brisk, grey-haired lady emerged through a glass- 
bead curtain and came forward with outstretched 
hands as the visitors mounted the steps. 

“Miss Cochran, how are you? And Major 
Sutherland, I’m so delighted to see you again.” 

“This is Miss Maxwell, a fellow-passenger. . . 
Mrs. Alexander.” 

“Welcome to India, Miss Maxwell. I am sure, 
by the look in your eyes, that this is your first 
visit. Am I right? ” 

‘You are,” smiled Dorothy, feeling a warm glow 
somewhere in the region of the affections. 

“Come along and sit down, all of you. Mr. 
Alexander is out, unfortunately, but you’ll all have 
breakfast with us, won’t you? ” 

“ There now,” said the Major, and he turned to 
Dorothy. ‘ Here’s the Indian hospitality I told 
you about. Mrs. Alexander, I simply couldn’t per- 
suade Miss Maxwell that it wouldn’t be an intru- 
sion to ask you to put her up for a night. But per- 


haps you have a few dozen other visitors as usual.” 
47 


48 RED BLOSSOMS 


‘For a wonder, not one. But even if I had, that 
wouldn’t matter. We can always find one more 
small corner for an unexpected guest. I'll be de- 
lighted to have you stay, Miss Maxwell.” 

Just then a couple of children, with a rush and a 
whoop, clattered downstairs and threw themselves 
on the Major. Billy was a manly fellow of twelve 
who looked at his hero with obvious worship, while 
eight-year-old Betty bounced up on his knee with- 
out ceremony and hugged him. Dorothy thought 
she had never seen so many happy wrinkles round 
the kind blue eyes as now, when he gathered the 
precious child in his arms and returned her caresses 
with enthusiasm. 

Introductions, inquiries, explanations and gen- 
eral small talk followed for a few minutes as they 
all sat on the pleasant verandah. Then Miss Coch- 
ran rose to go. 

“Well then, if you simply can’t stay for break- 
fast, you’ll surely come to dinner to-night? ” said 
Mrs. Alexander. “ The Major, of course, comes.” 

Miss Cochran accepted with alacrity, and the 
Major, with a knowing, I-told-you-so glance at 
Dorothy, remarked, “‘ Ra-ther! Ive been looking 
forward to that dinner for a long time.” 

“I hope you won’t be disappointed then,” re- 
turned the hostess. ‘“ Perhaps you didn’t remem- 
ber that it’s Thanksgiving. We Scotch folk don’t 
know anything about Thanksgiving, Miss Max- 
well; but Billy has heard so much about it from 


NEW FRIENDS 49 


some American kiddies in school—he goes to 
school in South India, you know—that he’s teased 
the very life out of me to give a Thanksgiving din- 
ner. You'll probably think it a scream, but per- 
haps you could give me a few pointers beforehand.” 

“That will be awfully jolly,” said the Major. 
“T’ve only once been at a Thanksgiving dinner, 
and that was years ago, in New York. [I realized 
then what a lot we non-American folk miss because 
we don’t celebrate that way. If lL had been a fam- 
ily man, I would certainly have introduced it, espe- 
cially for the sake of the kiddies. Well, I must be 
off immediately too. I have to look after the trans- 
ference of a passenger who had an accident. Miss 
Maxwell will tell you all about it. Eight o’clock 
as usual, I presume? ” 

“Hight o’clock, as usual; but come early.” 

Off went the car, and Dorothy Maxwell found 
herself alone in a new land, with a person she had 
never met until ten minutes before. What a queer 
place India was, to be sure! Its suddenness quite 
took one’s breath away. But she had already 
fallen in love with Ruth Alexander, the woman 
with the kind hazel eyes that shone with love and 
sympathy, compelling everybody to trust her, to 
cheer up and see the bright side of things, the 
woman who radiated an atmosphere of peace and 
goodwill that was like the shadow of a great rock 
in a weary land. She was standing now on the top 
step of the verandah, watching the departing car. 


50 RED BLOSSOMS 


Billy had his arm round her waist in a fatherly 
fashion, deliciously conscious of his extra quarter- 
inch of height. Betty was standing tiptoe with ex- 
citement, hoping for a last signal from her beloved 
one. It came. Just as the car slowed down to 
avoid the gatepost, the Major’s topi was vigorously 
waved from the window. 

“Now, off with you, chickies. That’s the last 
of Uncle Pat until to-night,” and Mrs. Alexander 
disengaged herself from the children and turned 
to her guest. 

The rest of that first day in India always re- 
mained to Dorothy a confused and crowded col- 
lection of novel impressions: of the big, rambling 
bungalow with its high-ceilinged, airy rooms and 
wide verandahs, its brass bowls and vases and can- 
diesticks and lamps, its curtains of quaint wool 
embroidery, its rugs of rich reds and blues, its 
strange plants in their brass jardinieres, its garden 
with the peculiar plants and flowers tended by two 
half-clothed brown figures with red woollen caps; 
the palm tree in a neighbouring compound with a 
man climbing-down its long stalk like a monkey on 
a stick; the genial family breakfast table where she 
met the reserved but kindly host; and then the tir- 
ing drive through the bazaar in the evening to buy 
the various items on Miss Perkins’ interminable 
list. 

It was a very cosmopolitan dinner party. The 
Alexanders were Scotch, Major Sutherland Scotch 


NEW FRIENDS 51 


with an Irish mother, Miss Cochran Australian, 
Dorothy herself a Canadian with more than half 
her interests American. There were also a couple of 
Americans and a bank clerk just out from London, 
whom Mrs. Alexander was trying to prop up till 
he should find his Indian legs. 

Dorothy enjoyed the international chaffing and 
the tall stories told by the Americans to nonplus 
the uninitiated, but she herself was rather quiet. 
She could not help wishing that her lot had been 
cast here in Bombay, where she might visit this 
adorable Alexander family, and where she might 
occasionally relax from mission problems in an at- 
mosphere like this. Then she glanced across the 
table at the kind face of her shipboard friend. He 
was devoting himself to his little partner Betty, 
and to judge by the animated conversation and the 
chuckles, they were both evidently having a per- 
fectly glorious time. He was her one link with the 
pleasant life of the last three weeks. But to- 
morrow even that link would be broken. She 
would find herself away at the back of beyond with 
no white folk about her but the redoubtable and 
rather doubtful Miss Perkins. 

When Miss Cochran left, Dorothy and Major 
Sutherland, at his request, drove down with her to 
her home in the Fort and then came back by the 
sea. As they turned north along the fine, wide car- 
riage road that skirts the curve of Back Bay, 
Dorothy lay back in her corner and watched the 


52 RED BLOSSOMS 


twinkling shore-lights and the indistinct row of 
palms between her and the sea. 

“Tired? ” queried her companion. 

‘JT was awfully tired when we started, but this 
is refreshing.” 

‘Would it tire you to go home a roundabout 
way? Id like you to see Bombay from a vantage- 
point.” 

“Thank you, Id love to.” 

They sped up Malabar Hill, that fashionable 
suburb on the west that runs out to a promontory 
capped by Government House. They alighted and 
walked out to a little stone platform built at a 
strategic point, and they watched from this emi- 
nence the magnificent panorama. Along the curve 
of Back Bay shone a row of lights familiarly 
known as “The Queen’s Necklace.” Here and there 
on the shore tiny pin-points of light showed where 
vendors had their booths, boasting by way of il- 
lumination only smoking cotton wicks floating in 
cups of oil. Away beyond, in the heart of the city, 
blazed a few high electric signs. Close by, a palm 
tree rustled. A bird, disturbed in its sleep, com- 
plained querulously. From the immense, indis- 
tinct area spread out before them, rose the weird, 
composite murmur of city life. The air was com- 
fortably cool, and it carried the indescribable, 
haunting, Eastern scent composed of burning 
wood, sweet spices, strange flowers, and a hundred 
other ingredients. 


NEW FRIENDS 53 


“Oh, it’s lovely—lovely,” whispered Dorothy, 
as she gazed entranced. ‘“‘ How beautiful India 
is!” 

‘““ Yes, indeed, and especially beautiful when the 
kindly night has hidden the unlovely things. In 
the pitiless glare of daylight—well, one sees the 
true India.” 

““Y’m afraid I don’t want to see that side of it.” 

‘“‘T wish you didn’t have to. But that’s the side 
missionaries are bound to see. In fact, if it 
weren’t for that side of things, they wouldn’t be 
needed at all. But try not to get so absorbed in 
the sordid, seamy elements of your work that you 
forget about the beautiful ones. By the way, I 
see you have quite fallen for the Alexanders. I 
was sure you would.” 

“T surely have. What is the secret of their 
charmer: 

‘“‘Tt’s hard to define it. For one thing, they’re 
optimistic; and in this aggravating land an opti- 
mist is worth his weight in gold. Then, although 
they are magnificent missionaries—both of them— 
they haven’t forgotten how to be just human, just 
kindly and sociable. They’re never so taken up 
with their own particular problems that they 
haven’t time to spare for other folk and their prob- 
lems. Their home in Bombay is a perfect haven 
for the depressed and lonely folk that need a little 
cheering up.” 


54 RED BLOSSOMS 


‘Like that Mr.—what was his name?—we met 
to-night, the bank clerk? ” 

‘Yes, indeed. In fact, he owes Ruth Alexander 
his life.” 

“ His lifer? How?” 

“The Alexanders saw him one day sitting on 
one of the benches by the seashore. There was 
something about his lonely, dejected air that struck 
Ruth, and she made her husband go up and speak 
to him. She often has impulses like that, and 
they’re always true. This one was particularly 
fortunate. It transpired that the poor fellow was 
down and out and just contemplating ending it all.” 

Dorothy shivered. The heavy Eastern scents 
suddenly seemed offensive. ‘‘ They’re wonderful 
people, both of them,” she said at length. ‘“ How 
did you first meet them? ” 

The Major paused a moment. “ Fifteen years 
ago,’ he began, “‘ my fiancée was on her way out 
to me. She travelled with the Alexanders. She 
took typhoid on the boat and was in a precarious 
condition when she landed. Ruth Alexander took 
her straight to her home in Bombay, and nursed 
her like a sister till she died—a fortnight later.” 

‘““Excuse me,” said Dorothy, her eyes filling. 
‘“‘T’m sorry I asked.” 

‘““T’m very glad you did. You can understand 
how I feel about the Alexanders. They have been 
my friends ever since. Ruth is the kind of woman 
who loves the whole world—her heart is so big, 


NEW FRIENDS 55 


bless her! Don’t for a moment hesitate to consult 
her if you ever need help. She’d appreciate it.” 

“Thanks, [Pll remember.” 

Dorothy continued to gaze at the beautiful scene 
before her. It was still beautiful, but the sounds 
of city life that surged up to her now seemed to 
contain the cry of pain, the moan of despair. She 
shivered again. 

“Don’t forget my advice so soon,” said the kind 
voice. ‘“‘ Remember the beautiful things. By the 
way, too, please don’t forget that I am your friend 
as well as Mrs. Alexander. I should be sorry to 
think this was the end of our friendship.” 

‘So should I. But, you see, Anamabad seems 
to be at the back of nowhere.” 

“But you'll be having a holiday away from it 
now and again.” 

“T don’t know. Miss Perkins says she hasn’t 
been out of Anamabad for four years.” 

‘“‘'That’s nonsense, in fact, criminal. Every one 
should have a vacation occasionally, especially 
those who live in lonely stations. Do no white 
people ever go to Anamabad? ” 

“T believe not.” 

‘“ But, you know, good friends sometimes make 
a way of meeting again. My berth for the present 
is in Poona, and that isn’t more than a hundred 
miles or so from you. I might happen to find that 
I had very important business in Anamabad.” 

‘Oh, that would be lovely! Please do find some 


56 RED BLOSSOMS 


important business there soon,” cried Dorothy 
naively. . 

The Major smiled in shelter of the darkness. 
“Very well,” he said, “ll try. But meanwhile, 
until that very important business turns up, I was 
wondering whether you would allow me to write to 
you, and whether you would be so good as to an- 
swer? I am extremely interested in your work, 
and you are sure to have some peculiar cases that 
I should be glad to hear about. Perhaps, too, I 
could give you a little help in the way of buying 
medical stores and things like that.” 

“Oh, thank you so much,” replied Dorothy 
gratefully, staggered by this incredible bit of good 
fortune, that her Desirable Big Brother was ac- 
tually going to keep in touch with her. ‘“‘ You’ve 
already helped me in so many ways. It’s tremen- 
dously good of you to bother with a greenhorn.” 

Then they fell silent as they took one long, last 
look at the exquisite prospect before them. As 
they turned to go, Dorothy felt rested and re- 
freshed, and ready for Anamabad and The Great 
Unknown. 


VI 
THE REDOUBTABLE MISS PERKINS 


USTLE and bustle. Shouting and scream- 
H ing. Jingle and jangle. Hurrying figures 
with loads on their heads and babies on 
their hips. Clinking and clanking of bangles and 
anklets on waving arms and scurrying feet. Rat- 
tling of trucks. Banging of doors. 

Women from the north with long, full, pleated 
skirts of brilliant reds and yellows; with flimsy 
veils of saucy pinks and greens covering all but 
one bold black eye; with ivory rings from ankle 
to knee and from wrist to elbow; with metal toe- 
rings, gold necklets and jewelled nose-rings and 
ear-rings: the family bank book! Mohammedan 
women enveloped from head to foot in voluminous 
white cloaks to hide their alluring curves from the 
public eye. Women of the Maratha country with 
their sleek black hair coiled into a knot at the nape 
of the neck, and with their bare brown legs peep- 
ing out at every step from the folds of the long, 
straight piece of cloth wrapped loosely round them. 

Everywhere babies and baggage: babies in their 
mothers’ arms: babies riding on their fathers’ hip 


or shoulder or head; babies sprawling on the 
57 


58 RED BLOSSOMS 


ground: babies crawling under the feet of the 
passers-by: babies tumbling over the bed-bundles 
——most of them howling with excitement or fear. 

Heads of households with flapping white nether 
garments and shirts, coloured turbans or fezzes, 
many-hued waistcoats, clumsy wooden sandals or 
turned-up, red morocco slippers, rushing to and 
fro, gesticulating frantically to their tardy families, 
hustling their womenfolk into already bulging com- 
partments, pushing their boxes and baskets and 
bundles through the windows, shouting at the pitch 
of their voices, and altogether getting their money’s 
worth out of their train ride. 

When Dorothy Maxwell alighted at Anamabad 
Station, she stood bewildered for a moment by this 
novel medley of sounds and sights. Then she 
strained her eyes in search of some person or some 
thing that might have some connection with her- 
self. She suddenly distinguished amidst the seeth- 
ing mass of figures a white sun-topi bobbing up 
and down, and she watched its progress with eager 
interest. It gradually approached, and she found 
herself face to face with the great Miss Perkins. 
Her first swift impression was of a small, rotund 
woman with extraordinarily bright black eyes and 
enormous spectacles who shook hands in a sort of 
pump-handle fashion, and said: 

‘““Glad to see you, child. Where’s your bag- 
gage? Haven’t got it out yet? Dear, dear, hurry 
up, or the train will go off.” 


THE REDOUBTABLE MISS PERKINS 59 


“Oh,” cried Dorothy in consternation, ‘“ I 
thought it stopped here half an hour.” 

‘¢ Stuff and nonsense; it comes when it likes and 
it goes when it likes. Here, you, Joseph, get 
Missy-sahib’s things out quick. And you, Moses, 
run with them to the bullock-cart.” 

Two Indian lads stepped forward. Dorothy was 
pushed aside as of no consequence, and with some 
trepidation she watched her hold-all transferred 
from the compartment to Moses’ head, and carried 
somewhere through the crowd and out of sight. 
When the boy reappeared for a second load she 
felt relieved, and she turned to study the eccentric 
figure beside her. 

Miss Perkins’ dress was of black alpaca of the 
style of thirty years before. It had a long, full 
skirt, and a tight bodice buttoned up the front. 
With this she wore a boy’s rubber Eton collar, and 
a small, red cotton bow tie. Her sun-topi was enor- 
mous, and as she looked down at the luggage it 
quite extinguished her features. But when she 
raised her head to give an order, she disclosed a 
little round face, aquiline nose, ruddy complexion, 
thin lips, and the brightest, beadiest, most discon- 
certing black eyes twinkling through her specta- 
cles. In one hand she carried a large black um- 
brella with a white cotton cover. With this she 
gesticulated violently, and even rapped Joseph and 
Moses when they were not smart enough. By the 


60 RED BLOSSOMS 


other hand she led an Indian child of five or four, 
the afflicted Tommy, perhaps. 

When at last Dorothy’s numerous items of lug- 
gage had been carried out of sight, Miss Perkins 
jumped into the compartment, gave a penetrating 
and all-embracing glance round, poked under the 
seats with her umbrella, and finally hopped out 
again, heaving a big sigh of relief. 

“That’s that,’ she remarked. ‘“ Now, we'll 
move out to the dumny. Come along, Tommy,” 
and half guiding, half pushing Dorothy with the 
handle (fortunately) of the ubiquitous umbrella, 
Miss Perkins threaded her way out of the station 
and over the road to where a vehicle was standing. 

‘Vehicle ” was the only word Dorothy Maxwell 
could think of. She had never before seen any- 
thing remotely like this two-wheeled cart covered 
with a rounded cloth top and drawn by two bul- 
locks. The door was at the back, and when the 
new-comer mounted the step, she found two 
wooden seats attached to the sides and running the 
long way of the dumny. She and Tommy occupied 
one, and Miss Perkins the other. 

‘But where is the baggage? ” she asked. 

‘Look over there, child.” Dorothy, following 
the direction of the ever-useful implement in Miss 
Perkins’ hand, looked through the door of the 
dumny and saw her precious belongings piled up 
on a bullock-cart behind, and just being roped on 
by Joseph and Moses. 


THE REDOUBTABLE MISS PERKINS 61 


“‘ Chelau, chelau, Jevan,” shouted Miss Perkins, 
clapping her hands vigorously. A third boy ap- 
peared from nowhere, jumped up and sat on the 
cross-bar behind the bullocks, gave an unearthly 
yell that made Dorothy jump, and then, by alter- 
nately whacking the animals and twisting their 
tails, he persuaded them to start. 

They did so with a jerk that pitched the unsus- 
pecting greenhorn back against the side of the 
dumny and knocked her topi askew. She laughed 
good-naturedly and held on firmly to the seat. 
She was anxious to make polite conversation, but 
the progress of the dumny was too noisy and er- 
ratic. Miss Perkins made no attempt in that direc- 
tion. She stared fixedly out of the door of the 
dumny as thoygh oblivious of anyone’s presence. 
So Dorothy sat silent, watching with the ardour of 
the new-comer the peep of landscape visible above 
the driver’s head. 

The station stood on the outskirts of the town. 
They were evidently heading for the country. 
There was little to be seen but the long stretch of 
road lined with cactus bushes and an occasional 
stumpy, scraggy mimosa. Round a bend in the 
road ahead, a procession suddenly swung into view. 
Above the clatter of the dumny, Dorothy could 
hear the clashing of cymbals and the shouting of 
men’s voices. ‘“‘ How interesting!” she thought. 
“This must be a marriage procession.” The con- 
fused blur of figures passed on the side of the 


62 RED BLOSSOMS 


dumny behind Miss Perkins. Dorothy leaned for- 
ward and looked through the door. Then she 
started back in horror. In the middle of the pro- 
cession was a rude bier borne by four men. On 
it lay a corpse wrapped in a red cloth strewn with 
yellow flowers and powder. The uncovered face, 
hideously smeared with white ashes, indicated an 
old man, and the dead head lolled from side to side 
as the bier was jostled on the shoulders of its trot- 
ting bearers. 

Dorothy, in her profession, was naturally accus- 
tomed to death in its various forms. But death, 
at home, was associated with quiet and dignity and 
reverence and a darkened atmosphere. Even in 
the lowest slums, where she had eased some poor 
spirit in its flight from an unlovely abode, she had 
been conscious of a Something that touched the 
neighbours, coarse as they were, and stilled for a 
time at least the raucous quarrels and the crude 
jibes. But to see death in the blazing sunlight, ac- 
companied by bright colours, jarring music, loud 
singing, laughing voices—it was a little staggering. 
Tired with the journey, bewildered by the new 
sounds and sights, somewhat overpowered by her 
companion, Dorothy felt momentarily unstrung. 
Miss Perkins seemed to wake up suddenly from 
her reverie. She looked back along the road. 

‘““Hi’m,” she snorted. “ It’s only a funeral—on 
its way to the burning ghat. You’re surely not 
squeamish? ” 


THE REDOUBTABLE MISS PERKINS 63 


“Oh, no, thank you. It just gave mea bit of 
a shock, for I supposed in the distance that it was 
a wedding procession.” 

‘“‘ Stuff and nonsense, child. Now, don’t begin 
by getting bits of shocks, or you won’t stand India. 
‘Mind, now. And you a doctor, too!” 

Dorothy felt the bright eyes examine her criti- 
cally. She almost heard them snap in disapproval. 
Then Miss Perkins suddenly laughed aloud. 

“You'll soon get over funerals, child,’ she re- 
sumed cheerfully. ‘Our bungalow stands on the 
road to the Lingayet cemetery. The Lingayets 
bury their dead, you know, instead of burning 
them, and they carry the corpses sitting up in a 
chair with a bunch of palm leaves waving over 
them. We see all the funerals pass. In plague 
time they come so fast that they can’t all get the 
official drummers.” 

Dorothy did not speak. She wished that her 
informant had not seen fit to hand out this inter- 
esting item just at this particular psychological 
moment. 

But there was little time for meditation, melan- 
choly or otherwise. Another violent jerk precipi- 
tated Dorothy right into Miss Perkins’ lap, as the 
dumny swerved abruptly to the left, missed a 
dilapidated gate-post by half an inch, and drew 
up in front of a bungalow. Dorothy, still appre- 
hensive of the erratic tendencies of the bullocks, 
alighted with caution and began to look about her. 


VII 
FIRST IMPRESSIONS 


NAMABAD was at one time a canton- 
A ment, now abandoned for lack of an 
adequate water supply. There still re- 
mained in tolerable condition half a dozen of the 
officers’ bungalows. Of these Miss Perkins had 
bought two; and by pulling down the wall between 
the compounds she had acquired an area of over 
three acres, with two large bungalows and a mis- 
cellaneous assortment of smaller buildings—serv- 
ants’ houses, stables, and storerooms. One of the 
bungalows was occupied by Miss Perkins and any 
little protégés she happened to have on hand. The 
other served as day school, girls’ hostel, and dis- 
pensary. 

Miss Perkins’ bungalow, in front of which the 
dumny had stopped, was a long, low, one-storied, 
whitewashed building, with a row of ponderous 
stucco pillars edging the verandah and supporting 
the sloping roof of thatch. On the ground beside 
the plinth and on each side of the entrance steps, 
were ranged numerous earthenware pots filled with 
many varieties of crotons. Dorothy took this in at 
one hurried glance and turned to the compound. 


In a stretch of ground between the drive and the 
64 


FIRST IMPRESSIONS 65 


enclosing wall, a couple of water buffaloes were 
nosing round in the scanty grass. JDotting this 
“lawn,” as she mentally dubbed it, and lining the 
drive and the smaller paths, were trees and bushes, 
large and small. From some of them depended 
silvery seedpods, rustling and whispering in re- 
sponse to a modest breath of wind. From others, 
long, heavy green pods hung stolid and prideful. 
Here and there flamed a bush of purple bougain- 
villea. Chumpa trees reared great, fan-like 
clumps of glossy green leaves, and many of the 
stalkless, starlike blossoms of waxy white with 
yellow centres, had fallen from their perch and 
were making a fragrant carpet beneath it. 

Dorothy ran over and picked up a couple of 
blossoms. ‘‘ Oh, how sweet, how exquisite!” she 
thought as she inhaled their mystic, haunting 
scent; and she felt both physically and mentally 
refreshed. 

Miss Perkins was all this time interviewing a 
group of Indians who had been awaiting her ar- 
rival. Dorothy wondered when she was to be in- 
vited indoors, but she looked about her to get her 
bearings. She tried to locate a peculiar, creaking 
noise, and decided that it must come from a well 
in the farther corner of the compound, for she 
caught sight of two bullocks being driven down a 
slope and automatically raising a big leathern bag 
of water. She walked a little way towards it and 
leaned against a tree, fascinated each time the big: 


66 RED BLOSSOMS 


bag opened out suddenly at its base and precipi- 
tated a flow of clear, sparkling water into the little 
earthen runnels that carried it off into a neighbour- 
ing field. | 

‘“Good morning, Doctor-missysahib,” said a 
Sweet voice with a marked accent. ‘‘ Welcome to 
Anamabad.” Dorothy wheeled round, and found 
herself face to face with a young Indian woman. 
Her sleek black hair was brushed smoothly back 
from her forehead; her large brown eyes were 
sparkling with joy and friendliness; and her lips 
were parted in a smile that displayed thirty-two 
faultless, glistening white teeth. 

“Oh, good morning,” replied Dorothy, shaking 
the outstretched brown hand and feeling puzzled 
as to how to proceed. 

‘“‘ Please, I am Susanbai, your dispenser.” 

“Qh, really? Then you and I are going to work 
together, aren’t we, Susanbai? ” 

 Pleasesivess: 

But just then Miss Perkins, having satisfactorily 
interviewed her Indian visitors, seemed suddenly 
to remember that she had a guest. Beckoning 
vigorously with her umbrella, which had been 
tucked under her arm as she talked, she swish- 
swished along the verandah. Dorothy sped up the 
steps and followed her through an open door at 
the extreme end. Her heart beat fast at the 
thought that this was actually her destination, the 
goal towards which all her previous life had been 


FIRST IMPRESSIONS 67 


leading, the point to which all lines of activity and 
interest, of knowledge and ambition, had con- 
verged. The voyage and the shipboard friends 
and the visit to Bombay—these were mere inci- 
dents. Here her life work was to begin. 

The room was foursquare. Its high ceiling and 
walls were whitewashed. Its mud floor was cov- 
ered, imperfectly, with straw matting. There were 
no windows, but a door in each wall. One led to 
the front verandah, one to the west verandah, one 
to the dining-room, and one to the dressing-room. 
In the middle of the floor stood an ancient, rusty 
iron bedstead, with its four upright rods support- 
ing four horizontal ones and evidently awaiting the 
mosquito-net in her trunk. A table, a chair, an 
empty bookcase, and a couple of rugs completed 
the furnishings. 

It was not an inviting room. Compared with 
the one she had occupied in Bombay, with its 
dainty cushions and curtains and its white-enam- 
elled furniture, this was more like a prison cell. 
But Dorothy, with the eye of faith, saw it en- 
livened by her books and pictures and photographs, 
and she was content. 

As she was looking about her, a scuffling and a 
chattering and a suppressed giggling heralded the 
advent of a dozen little imps in pink cotton pina- 
fores. They invaded her room and each presented 
her with a droll little nosegay. In answer to their 
dumb show she removed her topi; one of them 


68 RED BLOSSOMS 


tied a wreath of tube-roses round the knot of her 
hair, while two others tied on her wrists bangles 
of flowerheads strung together. Then they joined 
hands and sang a weird song, Miss Perkins stand- 
ing alongside, gesticulating and exhorting. 

‘IT wish I knew what it means,” said Dorothy, 
when they had finished. 

“Tt’s a song of welcome to you. Susanbai com- 
posed it. Dinner at seven,” and she and the chil- 
dren departed. 

After a survey of her quarters Dorothy started 
to unpack. It was five o’clock and appreciably 
cooler than at any time during the journey. But 
she was desperately thirsty. She had long ago ex- 
hausted the contents of her water bottle, and had 
ardently hoped that afternoon tea might figure on 
the programme. But there had been no mention 
of it, and she was too much in awe of the mistress 
of the house either to ask for a drink or forage for 
one. As she bent over her trunk she heard a rap 
on the open door, and Susanbai entered, carrying 
a large cup of tea and a huge slice of bread and 
butter.” 

‘Why, Susanbai, what is this? ” 

‘“‘ Please, Doctor-missysahib, I hear Mudum- 
sahib say ‘ Dinner at seven’ and I thinking Doc- 
tor-missysahib maybe have thirst.” 

‘Indeed I have, Susanbai. How awfully good 
of you! Did you ask Miss Perkins for this? ” 

Susanbai put her fingers on her lips, turned her 


FIRST IMPRESSIONS 69 


expressive brown eyes dramatically towards the 
door, and shook her head. ‘‘ Mudumsahib not 
knowing. This is my tea.” 

Dorothy gratefully gulped down the luke-warm, 
syrupy-sweet liquid, and turned again to her trunk, 
inexpressibly cheered by Susanbai’s thoughtful- 
ness. 

On entering the dining-room at seven o’clock, 
the new-comer was staggered to find three little 
Indian children, including Tommy, already seated 
at table and enjoying their meal with an enthusi- 
asm appreciable both to ear and eye. She sat 
down on a horsehair sofa to wait, and as Miss Per- 
kins did not appear for fully half an hour there 
was ample time to look round and get acquainted 
with things. 

The room was an extraordinary mixture. The 
walls were discoloured: perpendicular streaks of 
yellowish-green on the whitewash indicated the 
effects of a leaky roof. The lower half of each 
wall was well covered by lithographs, family por- 
traits and texts. The horsehair sofa on which she 
sat had a couple of red and green woollen antima- 
cassars over the ends. A shaky reed table was 
propped against the wall, with one leg three inches 
off the ground. On it lay a large Bible, a row of 
dilapidated books, and a bundle of English period- 
icals. The tablecloth was of coarse, red-checked 
cotton. A thick glass jar—presumably a Horlick’s 
Malted Milk bottle—was placed in the centre of 


70 RED BLOSSOMS 


the table, and contained a bunch of red, yellow, 
crimson, orange and purple zinnias that absolutely 
screamed at each other and at the tablecloth. 

Dorothy was not particularly fastidious, but 
she was well aware of the psychological effects of 
environment, and her heart sank. Her soliloquy, 
however, was interrupted by the entrance of Miss 
Perkins, who waved her to a horsehair chair at 
table, took one opposite, said a long and earnest 
grace, and then rapped smartly on her glass to 
summon the butler. 

“By the way,” she remarked to Dorothy, 
“these children are not well, so I have them over 
here to see that they get enough to eat. I hope 
you'll examine them to-morrow, Doctor.” 

“ Certainly,” replied Dorothy, noting the round 
cheeks and bulging stomachs, and mentally decid- 
ing that they were overfed. ‘‘ How long have they 
been ill? ” 

This started Miss Perkins on a lengthy descrip- 
tion not only of the children themselves, and their 
ailments, but of the work in general: the new doc- 
tor’s future duties, the primitive dispensary, the 
outbreak of plague in a neighbouring village, and 
many other items which, being entirely new to her, 
left her with only a confused and hazy idea as to 
what it was all about. The only question asked of 
her was, whether she had brought everything on 
the list? 

Even Dorothy Maxwell’s unpractised eye soon 


FIRST IMPRESSIONS 71 


recognized that Miss Perkins was a person of one, 
and of only one idea. That idea was work, al- 
ways writ in capitals. Only in so far as a subject 
had some direct bearing on mission work, did she 
evince the slightest interest in it. It seemed to be 
nothing to her whether Dorothy had had a pleas- 
ant voyage, or where she had stayed in Bombay. 
Her only value lay in the fact that she had arrived 
safely and was ready for the work that had awaited 
her so long. 

Miss Perkins, in her lonely and specialized life, 
had long since left behind her such trifles as the 
common courtesies of life, the conventional but 
kindly inquiry after health or concerning a jour- 
ney. In the interests of work everything super- 
fluous had been rigidly eliminated. She was glad 
to see Dorothy, not because she was a fresh young 
woman with high ideals and buoyant enthusiasm, 
new knowledge and new methods, but because she 
represented so much work, so much service, so 
much efficiency. Her value to Miss Perkins was 
not to be in companionship or in inspiration, but 
in simple worth as a valuable adjunct of mission- 
ary effort—an agent, who, by healing bodies, 
would prepare minds and souls for Miss Perkins’ 
ministrations. 

All this, of course, was not immediately ap- 
parent to Dorothy Maxwell, but from the first she 
had a disquieting intuition that Miss Perkins was 
not quite human, that the ordinary things which 


G2 RED BLOSSOMS 


interest ordinary men and women had no meaning 
for her, and that she was, to a very real and almost 
terrible degree, a woman apart and peculiar. 
However, with the healthy appetite of youth, 
Dorothy enjoyed the simple dinner of tomato soup, 
curry and rice, and home-made bread and snow- 
white buffalo butter. Everything tasted good, in 
spite of the erratic behaviour both of Miss Perkins 
and the children, and in spite of the painful con- 
sciousness that the beady black eyes were weighing 
her in the balances and alas, finding her wanting! 
A stroll in the cool, fragrant garden with Susan- 
bai, brought to an end Dorothy Maxwell’s first day 
in Anamabad. Her mind was full of questions and 
problems which she determined to thrash out be- 
fore going to sleep. But five minutes after she had 
crept in under her mosquito-net and tucked it in 
carefully on all four sides, the sandman came along, 
threw a handful of Indian sand in her eyes, pock- 
eted all her perplexities, and continued his rounds. 


VIIl 
FROM DIFFERENT POINTS OF VIEW 


(From Miss Perkins to Lady Brixton) 
Mission House, 
ANAMABAD, INDIA, 
January 15, 1914. 
Lady Brixton, 

Brixton House, 

Berwickshire, 

Scotland. 


EAR Lapy BrIxTon: 
I) I trust you had a happy time at Christ- 


mas and that the Lord will richly bless 
you in the New Year, and make you fruitful in all 
your works, especially the work at Anamabad. 
Thanks to your Christmas box, the orphans had 
a fine feed, and send you their respectful salaams 
for the same. 

Well, she’s here, as she no doubt has written 
and told you. It behooved me to wait and see 
what’s what before reporting to you. ‘“‘ Hope de- 
ferred maketh the heart sick.” For twenty long 
years my heart was sick, hoping and praying and 
wrestling with the Lord for a doctor to heal sick 
bodies, that many souls might be turned into the 


way everlasting. Well, as I said, she’s here, and 
73 


74 RED BLOSSOMS 


my heart is more sick than it was, aye, sick unto 
death. 

Now, I have nothing against her personally, 
mind you. I hope Iam a just woman, judging not 
that I be not judged. She is a good girl and a good 
Christian, according to her lights. But a mission- 
ary—No. To begin with, she’s delicate. You'll 
hardly believe me when I tell you that she some- 
times (in fact, oftem) lies down in the afternoon— 
in the afternoon, mind you, as though she were a 
lady of leisure with nothing else to do but pamper 
herself. I make it a point of conscience to find out 
every time she does it, and try to bring her to a 
sense of her duty, but she always says she is tired. 
Pure imagination, of course. Here am I, bearing 
the heat and burden of the day for five and twenty 
years in India, and I would be ashamed to touch 
my bed before nine o’clock at night. 

Then, secondly, her dress is unbecoming to any- 
one who has dedicated herself to be a missionary 
of the Gospel. She looks exactly like the Col- 
lector’s wife, or any other ordinary person like 
that. And she has two evening dresses! She says 
she wore them both at home and didn’t buy them 
with any of her missionary outfit money, but the 
idea of a missionary being taken up with fashions 
and fol-de-rols!' I sometimes wonder if it isn’t my 
sacred duty to burn those evening dresses. I can 
only pray for guidance. 

As for medical work, she does very little—just 


FROM DIFFERENT POINTS OF VIEW 75 


a few hours in the dispensary in the mornings, and 
a little visiting in the afternoons. Of course, it’s 
better than nothing. Ill admit that. And the 
Indians nearly worship her. But compared with 
all my expectations, it’s a sore disappointment. 
No doubt the Lord knows best. 

Well, I’m glad to tell you that Tommy is better 
again, though not himself yet, poor wee man. The 
new convert I told you about has run away. I am 
afraid he was a deceiver. For three whole months 
I fed him free and instructed him in holy truths, 
and then he was baptized to our great joy. But 
whenever I suggested that he should begin to work, 
he disappeared. The Lord knoweth the hearts of 
men. 

One of the bullocks has a swollen knee-joint, and 
the pastor is down with indigestion, otherwise we 
are all well. 

With respects to Your Ladyship, 

Yours truly, 
Mary ANNE ELIZABETH PERKINS. 


(Dorothy Maxwell to Major Sutherland) 
ANAMABAD, 
January 15, 714. 
DEAR MAJOR SUTHERLAND: _ 

Many thanks for your letter of the 10th. The 
box of stores arrived a couple of days ago, in ex- 
cellent condition. I am most grateful to you for 
buying them for me, and will be bothering you 


76 RED BLOSSOMS y 


soon again, for—I have a tremendous bit of news 
for you. 

I have just received a check for Rs. 1000. I 
must write it out in words, it looks so much bigger 
that way. One thousand rupees for dispensary 
equipment. And just guess who sent it. Of 
course, you couldn’t possibly guess, so be ready for 
a shock. It was Mrs. Sandeman! And she wrote 
the loveliest letter, saying she didn’t believe a bit 
in missions yet, but she believed in me and in med- 
ical relief! Wasn’t that delicious? If all the folk 
who won’t believe in missions would act like Mrs. 
Sandeman, missionary work would soon get 
boosted. I’m so excited. Uve heaps of plans 
about using that one thousand rupees. Ill tell you 
some of them later, and ask your advice. Mean- 
while, I must just answer your questions. 

First of all for the daily round. Well, after 
sleeping like a top from ten till six, I am awakened 
by a gentle tap at the door and the appearance of 
Susanbai with a chota-hazri tray, a fragrant flower 
and a great big, loving, glistening smile and greet- 
ing. As you know, Susanbai is not my ayah. Offi- 
cially she is my dispenser, and unofficially my 
guide, philosopher and friend. One day she dis- 
covered quite accidentally that Miss Perkins’ cook 
had sent up burnt toast and cold tea, which I had 
left untouched. She asked me exactly how I liked 
things done and immediately installed herself as 
chota-hazri manager. Her loving smile and floral 


FROM DIFFERENT POINTS OF VIEW 117 


greeting put me in excellent humour for the day’s 
work. 

By the way, let me digress right here and tell 
you a story. About ten years ago Miss Perkins 
was riding through a village in her bullock dumny 
and suddenly heard screams of pain and terror 
coming from an enclosed courtyard. She stopped 
the dumny, jumped out, pushed open the door, and 
saw a woman dragging a child viciously across the 
floor. Miss P. rushed forward, brandishing her 
umbrella. 1 believe there was a free fight. I 
needn’t tell you who won! The victor took the 
trembling child in her arms and carried her to the 
dumny and drove home. It was a little Hindu 
widow of nine years of age. Her husband, a boy 
of twelve, had died two years previously, and 
since then her life had been one long, unspeakable 
martrydom under her mother-in-law. As the fam- 
ily was of good caste, there was quite a little fuss 
over the matter, but Miss P., intrepid and re- 
sourceful as usual, threatened to make a court case 
of it, and even to write to His Majesty, the King 
of England! The family got so scared that they 
came and begged on their hands and knees that 
she would be graciously pleased to keep the good- 
for-nothing child! I believe that a judicious 
‘present’ of a few rupees, especially as it was 
a famine year, had something to do with the sud- 
den change of front. Anyway, the child stayed, 
and she grew up strong and clever. By and by she 


78 RED BLOSSOMS 


asked to be baptized, and she dropped her own 
“heathen”? name and was given—guess what! 
Susan! Yes, this is the story of my dear, loving, 
incomparable Susanbai, who has smoothed away 
many a rough place for me in Anamabad. 

Well, to get back to the daily programme. At 
7 a.m. my pundit arrives. Mr. Krishnaji Mad- 
havrao Palnitker is a Brahman of the old school. 
He is about fifty years of age, tall and stately, 
with an erect bearing that is a mixture of pride of 
birth, conscious intellectual superiority, and su- 
preme indifference to the ordinary mortals about 
him. He is a model of correct deporiment. I 
could not imagine him condescending to be flurried 
or flustered under any circumstances whatsoever, 
and he bears with admirable equanimity my cruel 
mangling of his beautiful language and my crude 
attempts to repeat the gymnastics of his lips and 
tongue when he teaches me hitherto unknown 
sounds. I have not yet got used to the quaintness 
of his outfit, and I catch myself studying his stiff 
little cap of purple silk with the piece of gold 
fringe hanging from it, or the brilliant pink sus- 
penders that show up so vividly against his bare 
brown leg, or the pearl ear-ring in the top of his 
right ear, or the Ingersoll nickel wrist-watch on his 
left wrist, or his large black umbrella with his full 
name, Krishnaji Madhavrao Palnitker, painted in 
large white letters on the outside! I’m sorry to 
confess that I’m making little progress with Ma- 


FROM DIFFERENT POINTS OF VIEW ‘79 


rathi, for besides this hour with my pundit I get 
no time for study till after dinner, and my eyes 
are beginning to get strained with the deciphering 
of the Marathi characters by lamplight. So, per- 
haps [’ll have to get a pair of enormous spectacles 
after all, and then I’ll look the part of a lady doc- 
tor, according to your ideas! 

At eight o’clock I put on my topi and walk over 
to the other compound, where, as I mentioned be- 
fore, three rooms have been fitted up as consult- 
ing room, dispensary and waiting-room. Two Bi- 
ble-women are always there to speak with the pa- 
tients until it is their turn. I just love those dear, 
gentle, lovable Indian women. My heart went 
right out to them the first day I saw them, sitting 
on the floor nursing their darling little brownies. 
In most cases simple remedies are all that is 
needed, but how my heart aches at sight of the 
hopeless cases that, humanly speaking, could 
easily have been cured if they had been taken in 
time. I simply must have an hospital here by and 
by. I already see it in my mind’s eye. 

Well, this dispensary work takes me from eight 
till about eleven, when I go over to the other 
bungalow for breakfast. On three afternoons per 
week, I visit sick folk in Anamabad. On the other 
three I go with Miss Perkins and some of her In- 
dian preachers to villages in the vicinity. The 
people flock to get their ills cured—they still bring 
their lame and blind and multifariously diseased, 


80 RED BLOSSOMS 


as they did nearly two thousand years ago by the 
Lake of Galilee. 

I am awiully fond of the village work; it is so 
romantic to hold an open-air dispensary and treat 
folk who have never even seen a doctor before. 
We usually go into the village first and if possible 
speak with the head man and ask his permission 
to have a service. Miss Perkins and her preachers 
provide the religion—hymn-singing, prayers and 
very simple sermonettes. Then it is announced 
that the Missy-sahib will see sick folk, and I go 
off to a corner of the resthouse, or under a tree. 
Strange to relate, nearly the whole crowd follows 
me. They are not all sick, but they are all curious, 
and I have to diagnose all sorts of ailments and 
prescribe all sorts of remedies in the presence of 
a host of inquisitive witnesses. Later on we go 
out of the village and round to the wretched out- 
caste quarters. The enthusiastic crowd following 
us thins out when it sees where we are going, but 
we soon get a new crowd of those poor untouch- 
ables, and here we go through very much the same 
programme. 

The thing that gets me more and more all the 
time is the fact that this crude village life is the 
real India. Did you ever hear this staggering 
calculation, that if Christ had started, nineteen 
hundred years ago, and visited one Indian village 
each day, He would not yet have visited every 
village in India? When I look at a crowd of poor, 


FROM DIFFERENT POINTS OF VIEW 81 


dirty, ignorant Indian villagers, and think of the 
cleaning up that is needed—physical, mental and 
moral cleaning up—I feel as if I were trying to 
bale out a leaky ocean liner with a teaspoon. It 
seems plain to me that religion is the explanation 
of the whole problem, for as long as you have a 
religious system that keeps the top dog top and the 
under dog under, the great bulk of the people are 
not going to enjoy the advantages of the educa- 
tional and economic facilities which we think every 
man’s birthright, and ideas of brotherhood and 
fair play must permeate the land before each man, 
and especially each woman gets a really square 
deal. 

Now I must quit declaiming and finish my letter. 
On Sundays I try to forget that I am a doctor. 
I follow the long line of orphans as they walk two 
by two to church, a small bare hall with mud floor, 
whitewashed walls, and a tin roof that makes it 
very hot. A blind boy plays the wheezy organ, 
but the singing is so hearty that the organ is ef- 
fectually drowned. 

The pastor, Mr. Deshmukh, is a fiery little man 
who thumps his wooden desk and shouts prodigi- 
ously. Of course, I cannot understand him yet, 
but I try to look intelligent. I am ashamed to say 
that I thought Mr. Deshmukh the funniest sort of 
specimen when I first came; but now I admire, I 
revere him so much that if I just sit and look at 
him, I am soon ready for a good cry. He was a 


82 RED BLOSSOMS 


Brahman, of a wealthy family in Hyderabad. 
While still quite young, he was dissatisfied with 
the religion of his fathers and his forefathers and 
began to search for “some better thing.” He 
started out on a pilgrimage to try and find God 
and peace. He travelled all over India, visiting 
famous temples and shrines, bathing in the Ganges 
and the Krishna and other sacred rivers, and 
measuring his length on the ground from one holy 
spot to another, to persuade the gods to give him 
some sign. But it was all in vain. 

And then one day he happened to travel in a 
train beside a white man who spoke kindly to him 
and inquired about his journeyings. On hearing 
of the quest for peace, the stranger smiled, pulled 
from his pocket a little book, and handed it to Mr. 
Deshmukh. “ Here’s the very thing you’ve been 
looking for,” he said. “ Read it, and you will find 
God and peace.” 7 

The white man got out at the next station, and 
Mr. Deshmukh never saw him again nor found out 
who he was. But he started to read the little book, 
which was underlined in many places with red ink. 
Why, it was the very thing he had been searching 
for! This man called Jesus had solved the prob- 
lem of life, the riddle of the universe, with His 
simple message of love and peace between God 
and man, and between man and man. The result 
was that Mr. Deshmukh became a Christian, though 
it meant that he was persecuted and ostracized by 


FROM DIFFERENT POINTS OF VIEW 83 


his family and friends. They even performed the 
death ceremony for him, and blotted out his name 
from the family records. 

Since then he has been a lonely man, spending 
his time and strength for the outcastes. He not 
only preaches to them, he ves among them. 
When he goes out touring, he will sleep in a dirty 
mud hut in the Mang quarter, and eat food cooked 
by untouchables whom he was taught to consider 
lower than dogs. In plague times he nurses the 
sick and buries the dead without a qualm. He is 
absolutely without fear. He is another Paul. 
And he is so happy! The light in his eye shows 
him to be gloriously happy—he has found himself. 

And so, you see, it does me good just to go to 
church and sit and look at him, and thank God 
that the faith and courage of the early martyrs are 
found here, in India, in the twentieth century. 

Well, now to finish up this epistle and answer 
your questions. 

Yes, Mrs. Talbot invited me for a week-end at 
Poona, but I can’t possibly get away yet. And 
there isn’t the slightest hope, I’m afraid, of my 
getting to the Hills in the hot weather. Miss Per- 
kins calls it “ stuff and nonsense,” so that’s that, 
as she herself would say. 

You ask if Iam well. Yes, thank you. So far 
I have escaped all the dread ills of a tropical 
climate, except for an occasional bout of low fever, 
and a daily, almost hourly feeling of extreme 


84 RED BLOSSOMS 


fatigue. Miss Perkins assures me it is only the 
enervating effect of the climate and that I must 
fight against it. So I try to ignore it and shall no 
doubt soon throw it off. 

Now, this is an absolute whale of a letter, but 
you mustn’t blame me, for you asked all these 
details. 

My love to Mrs. Talbot when you see her, and 
my kind regards to yourself. 

Yours cordially, 
DorotHy J. MAXWELL. 


IX 
THE HEAT AND BURDEN OF THE DAY 


of March. On all sides the land lay parched 
and brown, with only a few greyish-green 
spots where the sisal plant maintained its circle of 
pointed leaves. Even the usually perky prickly- 
pear hedges looked dusty and depressed. Not a 
breath stirred in the branches of the mimosa trees, 
under whose meagre shade the cattle and buffaloes 
were huddled together, drooping dejectedly as 
though to say, ‘‘ If this is the heat in March, what 
will it be next month—and the next—ill the Rains 
break? The road stretched out like a long, un- 
ending white ribbon. Now and then a stray dog 
or goat crossed it, and a tiny spray of white dust 
rose and fell. The sky was a dazzling blue, with 
wisps of useless clouds floating high. The sun, 
like a great lidless eye, glared down upon creation 
with unblinking, merciless, exhausting insistence. 
Under a tree by the roadside lay several lumps 
of cloth. As a noise was heard and a bullock-cart 
came rattling along, one of the bundles rolled over, 
jerked itself violently, wriggled a little. And be- 
hold, an elderly man disengaged himself from the 
folds, sat up, rubbed his bleary eyes, yawned loud 
85 


1: was two o’clock on a hot day near the end 


86 RED BLOSSOMS 


and long, gazed at the approaching vehicle, and 
muttered to himself, ‘‘ What fool can this be, exert- 
ing himself in the heat of the day? ” 

As the cart drew near at the trot, he yelled in 
Marathi, “‘ Hi, you there, bullock-cart driver, stop 
a minute and talk, can’t you? ” 

‘What do you want, old fellow? ” asked the 
driver, drawing up gladly enough in the shade, 
jumping down from*his seat, stretching his limbs, 
and pretending to adjust the rope through the bul- 
locks’ noses. 

‘Oh, nothing particular. Who is inside? What 
sort of a man is your master to have no more care 
for his animals than to drive them in this heat? ” 

‘“ Aye, care for his animals, did you say? What 
about me, sitting on the perch in the blazing sun 
when I should be sleeping—as every sensible per- 
son does at this time of day? ” 

“‘ Good, fat, well-fed bullocks these look. I war- 
rant they eat four bundles of grain stalks, and a 
couple of pounds of cotton-seed, and a cake or two 
of peanut-oil cake every day, don’t they? ” 

‘““H’m, they’re supposed to get more than that, 
but I find they thrive and look all right on less, 
so the extra grain stalks and the cotton-seed and 
the oilcake help to feed and clothe me and my 
family, see? Ha, ha, ha!” 

‘‘ Ah, then it’s easily seen that your master is a 
white sahib. Only sahib-folks would be so stupid 
as to let a fool like you pull their leg.”’ 


HEAT AND BURDEN OF THE DAY 87 


‘“‘Sh-sh. The missy-sahib is inside; but, well, it 
doesn’t matter anyway. She doesn’t know Mara- 
thi yet.” 

‘‘ Who is she? ” 

“Oh, she’s a_ doctor-missysahib—fearfully 
clever—works magic, you know.” 

“You don’t say so? ” 

“Yes, indeed. Why, my wife had borne me four 
dead children, and I told her that if there was an- 
other one, I’d get a new wife. I suppose she went 
and wept and blabbed it all out, for the doctor- 
missy heard of it and scolded me dreadfully. Of 
course, she knows nothing about our customs. In 
her land the men are such fools that when their 
wives are barren they don’t take other wives.” 

“Who ever heard such nonsense? ‘The white 
men must be great cowards to be so frightened of 
their wives.” 

“Well, as I was going to say when you inter- 
rupted me, the doctor-missy took my wife into a 
small room off the medicine room, and then she 
turned out all the family—my wife’s four sisters, 
and my mother and my mother’s two sisters, and 
all the other female relatives who ought to be 
present at any properly conducted childbirth. 
That’s what makes us know that she works some 
sort of magic, for she doesn’t let anybody into the 
room but Susanbai, a stuck-up, good-for-nothing 
young person who thinks herself above us all. 
Well, anyway, in the morning, the doctor-missy 


88 RED BLOSSOMS 


brings me a living man-child—he’s an ugly little 
rascal, of course.” 

““ By the holy Rama, I never heard anything like 
that. I wonder if she can make my wife give me 
any more sons.” 

‘““Chelau, chelau, Jevan,’” cried a tired voice 
from within the dumny, and a tired white face 
looked out. ‘“‘ What’s the matter? Who is that 
old man? Can’t we go on? ”’ 

‘Yes, yes, Doctor-missysahib. Going on now. 
But this poor old man, he say, wanting to know 
white doctor-missysahib’s God, so I telling him 
leetle ’bout Him.” 

“Oh, I see. Well, I think we’d better go on 
now. Tell him to come to the bungalow and talk 
with Miss Perkins.” 

‘Very good, Doctor-missysahib, very good. 
And you, there, old grandfather,” cried Jevan as 
he jumped up behind the bullocks and gave them 
a preliminary whack, “the doctor-missy says 
you’ve to come to Anamabad and hear about her 
new religion from a crabbed old fright of a woman. 
And if you don’t, she’ll work a curse on you, and 
your wife will die in childbirth, and your eldest 
SONU Raia ia ae 
“Oh, stop, stop! Mercy, mercy!” And as 
Jevan, with a wicked chuckle, started up his bul- 
locks, the poor old man fell on his knees with 
hands uplifted in agony to ward off the threatened 
curse. 


HEAT AND BURDEN OF THE DAY 89 


Dorothy Maxwell looked through the door of 
the dumny and saw him in this attitude. She con- 
cluded that he was praying, and her heart smote 
her for not turning back. But the pain in her 
head and the smarting in her eyes and the aching 
in every limb bade her go on. 

‘Oh, dear,” she soliloquized, ‘‘ I’m not worthy 
to be a missionary. I’m more concerned about 
getting home and getting a rest, than about con- 
verting that poor, ignorant fellow. What’s the 
matter with me? I’m not a bit loving and gentle.” 

She fell into a melancholy reverie. Was she 
really the same enthusiastic young visionary who, 
last November, had made a pilgrimage to the 
burial ground of the Maxwells near a quaint old 
parish church in Scotland; who had thrilled at this 
assurance that her roots went down deep into good 
soil; who had stood in awe before the Covenanters’ 
Stone and spelt out with swelling pride the name 
of a Maxwell among the martyred heroes; and 
who, in a very ecstasy of fervour, had renewed her 
vows of consecration, praying passionately that 
she might prove worthy of the great traditions of 
her line—-of those who had never flinched from 
sacred duty but who, on rocky hill-side and in 
darksome cavern, had defied the wrath of their 
fellow-men. Had her enthusiasm, her inspiration, 
evaporated so soon? Was she already a failure? ”’ 

Since arriving in Anamabad four months pre- 
viously she had spoken with no white person but 


90 RED BLOSSOMS 


Miss Perkins, and of her she saw little except at 
meal times and when they rode out in the dumny. 
To be sure, she had seen a white man one day at 
the station, evidently a Government official on tour, 
and she had been seized with an almost irresistible 
impulse to go up and speak to him. She wanted a 
link with the past. How she longed for a chat 
with an old friend! 

Mrs. Talbot had written frequently and had 
urged her to join her for April and May at Maha- 
bleshwar, a hill-station in the Western Ghats, 
where she could escape the worst heat of the year 
and have opportunity for language study. But 
when Miss Perkins was consulted she had pointed 
out, in no measured terms, the absurdity of com- 
ing to India in November and going for a holiday 
in April; so Dorothy, with a bad heartache, had 
refused. Then the Alexanders had invited her for 
a week-end, but that pleasure, too, she had been 
obliged to forego. How well she remembered the 
painful interview with Miss Perkins! How the 
beady black eyes had pierced her to the very mar- 
row of her bones! 

‘““Bombay for a week-end? And you’ve only 
been here four months? Stuff and nonsense! I 
haven’t been out of Anamabad for four years. 
But of course, if you like to gallivant down to 
Bombay and enjoy yourself among worldly folks 
instead of doing the Lord’s work, as Lady Brixton 
sent you out to do, then you must arrange the mat- 


HEAT AND BURDEN OF THE DAY 91 


ter with your own conscience and with the Lord.” 
And Miss Perkins had swish-swished out of the 
room—to engage in the Lord’s work, no doubt. 

That had settled things for poor, amenable 
Dorothy Maxwell. She remembered ruefully how 
she had looked forward to India as a place where 
she would at last be free from the petty tyranny 
of her great-aunt. Alas, it had been out of the 
frying-pan into the fire. 

A jolting dumny that flings one backwards and 
forwards, pitches one sideways, bangs one’s topi 
against the wall, and throws the lunch basket down 
on one’s toes, is not conducive to connected or con- 
centrated thought. Dorothy’s mind became an 
uncomfortable jumble of headache, dust, glare, and 
flitting memories. She was glad that she was alone 
to-day and need not exert herself to talk, and she 
sighed with relief as a bend in the road brought 
the bungalow in sight. When the dumny stopped 
under the porch she alighted, called “‘ Salaam ” to 
Jevan as he drove off, then she slowly and pain- 
fully mounted the steps, leaning heavily on her 
parasol. On reaching the verandah she removed 
her dark glasses, rubbed her tired and dazed eyes, 
and turned towards her room. 

‘How d’ye do, Miss Maxwell? ” said a familiar 
voice. 

In front of her stood Major Sutherland. 

Dorothy stepped back stunned. The shock and 
the pleasure together almost unnerved her. Her 


92 RED BLOSSOMS 


lips quivered and she could not speak. She just 
wanted to sit down and cry her weary heart out. 

After one quizzical glance at her the visitor took 
her hand, held it firmly to steady her, led her to 
a wicker lounge chair, and gently seated her in it. 
Then he pulled forward another and sat down be- 
side her. 

‘‘'You seem surprised to see me? ” he began. 

“Why, yes,” replied Dorothy unsteadily, throw- 
ing down her topi and pressing her ruffled hair 
back from her aching brow. ‘“ It’s nearly bowled 
Me ‘Overs: 

‘“ But didn’t you get my wire? ” 

“No. What wire? ” 

“Isn’t that too bad? I found yesterday, about 
five o’clock, that I had some really important busi- 
ness in Anamabad,” and they both laughed, “so 
I wired you at once. You certainly ought to have 
got that wire last night. Isaid I would call to-day 
about two.” 

‘““How strange! And have you been waiting 
here all this time? ” 

“Yes. That is, I went and had a look through 
Anamabad—interesting old place it is, especially 
the Fort. Id have come to meet you, of course, 
but I couldn’t find out which way you’d gone.” 

“Then you haven’t seen Miss Perkins? ” 

“Not yet. I sent in my card, but the message 
came out that she was busy and that you’d be back 
directly.”’ 


HEAT AND BURDEN OF THE DAY 93 


Dorothy smiled a rather wry little smile. To 
think that she had lost two precious hours with so 
good a friend! To think that she might have rid- 
den back comfortably in his car instead of in that 
abominable, rickety, nerve-racking dumny, if only 
Miss Perkins hadn’t been so—so—so devoted! 
Dorothy would not let herself be disloyal, even in 
thought. 

“But you look frightfully tired and ill,” re- 
marked the Major. 

“Oh, I’m all right. Ive had a heavy day, and 
the sun tires me dreadfully. It makes my head 
ache so.” 

‘“‘Then suppose you go and lie down now? ” 

‘“‘ Indeed, I should think not,” replied Dorothy 
with a flash of her old buoyancy. ‘“‘Isn’t it bad 
enough to have lost so much time already? But 
tell me, how long can you stay? ” 

“Till seven. I must get back to Poona to-night 
without fail.” 

“But what about dinner? ” 

“Well, I hardly dared to expect an invitation 
from Miss Perkins, so I brought a well-packed 
lunch basket. I thought you and I might have a 
picnic dinner off somewhere.”’ 

‘“Oh, that would be glorious, scrumptious!” 
cried Dorothy, clapping her hands in glee. “TI 
know a splendid spot—under a spreading banyan 
tree—a few miles from here.” 

“ Right-oh!” 


94 RED BLOSSOMS 


‘Well, let’s have tea now. Ill just run and get 
a few inches of village grime and dust removed.” 

It was a disturbed and thoughtful man whom 
Dorothy left on the verandah, tugging mercilessly 
at his moustache. He was staggered by the change 
in her. The delicate pink colour was gone. The 
cheeks were thinner. The large eyes seemed still 
larger, with lines and shadows beneath them. The 
fair hair had lost its lustre. It did not need a pro- 
fessional eye to detect that Dorothy Maxwell was 
living on her nerves and on the edge of a break- 
down. But how could he help her? As a friend 
or as a medical man, could he offer advice? 


Xx 
A RESPITE 


AJOR SUTHERLAND had reached no 
MI solution of his problem when the object 
of his solicitude reappeared, followed 

by the butler and a tea-tray. 

A merry time followed, but it was not the visitor 
who did the talking. It seemed as though the 
small talk, and the big talk too, that had been pent 
up during the past four isolated months, must rush 
out in overpowering flood. Dorothy spoke of her 
medical work, to be sure, the frightful infant mor- 
tality, the hopelessness of teaching hygiene to the 
ignorant and fatalistic mothers, the cruelty and 
danger of many Indian practices, the growing faith 
of the people in her and in her dispensary. But 
these subjects all got mixed up with books, and the 
sun, and her topi, and the bullock dumny, and let- 
ters from mutual friends, and other seemingly ir- 
relevant topics. 

The Major sat listening in silent amusement and 
perfect understanding; and it was only when 
Dorothy asked his advice about cutting short the 
sleeves of a gingham dress, that he lost his gravity 
and laughed aloud. 

Dorothy pulled herself up with a start. ‘‘ Hor- 


rors, how I must be boring you! I don’t often 
95 


96 RED BLOSSOMS 


have a talking spell like this. Do forgive me. I 
feel as if I had to talk for weeks.” , 

‘“‘T’m enjoying it hugely. And, to please me, do 
run and fetch that dress—cambric, satin, gingham 
—what kind of a dress did you say it was?—and 
let me pass reasoned and deliberate judgment on 
Its Os 

Dorothy laughed. ‘“ Oh, it’s so lovely just to be 
able to talk and talk, and talk, about anything that 
comes into my head. It’s so refreshing.” 

‘But doesn’t Miss Perkins talk to you, or let 
you talk to her? ” 

“Oh, yes. But it’s only about mission work, 
or other really vital matters. I couldn’t possibly 
discuss with her anything so worldly as a gingham 
dress. As it is, she thinks me frightfully frivolous. 
You see, she’s so absolutely devoted that she’s no 
thought for anything or anybody but her work.” 

‘““H’m, I think I see. Well, now, shall we start? 
It should be comfortably cool now.” 

“Yes, indeed. Oh, here comes Miss Perkins. I 
must introduce you.” 

Miss Perkins had emerged from her office at the 
other end of the verandah. She was dressed as 
usual in her black alpaca dress, rubber collar, and 
red cotton bow tie. Her large spectacles were rest- 
ing on the extreme tip of her aquiline nose, and 
she was looking fiercely over them at a small In- 
dian boy, who, to judge by his abashed counte- 
nance, was being made to feel himself a terrible 


A RESPITE 97 


criminal. She piloted him along the verandah 
towards the steps, scolding all the while in Marathi. 
Dorothy and her visitor had risen, and stood ready 
to greet her, but she took not the slightest notice 
of them. When at last she let the child go, Doro- 
thy stepped forward and said: 

‘Miss Perkins, may I introduce Major Suther- 
land, a fellow-passenger on the way out? ” 

Miss Perkins nodded briskly, looked the Major 
up and down over the rim of her spectacles, and 
remarked: 

“Your wire arrived last night, young man.” 

“Oh,” cried Dorothy, “I didn’t know.” 

“Well, why should you know, child? It was 
your duty to go to Padoli whether any visitor was 
coming or not.” 

The Major was tugging at his moustache. “ But 
the wire was addressed to Miss Maxwell, was 
it not? ” 

“Perhaps so, young man. But those who truly 
love the Lord and are engaged in His work, have 
nothing to do with wires and worldly engagements.” 

“ But,” cried Dorothy, “if I had only known 
about it, I could have hurried back.” 

“‘* Ye cannot serve God and mammon,’ ” quoted 
Miss Perkins with decision. 

Dorothy was about to reply with some heat 
when she caught a twinkle in her friend’s blue eye, 
and he actually winked a wicked wink above the: 
head of the third party. ‘‘ We would be happy, 


98 RED BLOSSOMS 


Miss Perkins,” he interposed gallantly, ‘if you 
would accompany us for a little run in my car.” 

Dorothy trembled with apprehension lest the 
offer should be accepted. She need have had no 
fear. “Certainly not, young man,” came the 
brusque refusal. ‘‘I must be about my Father’s 
business.” And without another word the bristling 
little figure turned her back on them and swept 
along to her office, her voluminous skirts rustling 
with disapprobation. 

In somewhat embarrassed silence the two cul- 
prits made their way to where Sakharam and the 
Car were waiting beyond the gate; but when they 
were out of sight of the bungalow, the cool air re- 
vived Dorothy’s spirits, and she became quite talk- 
ative again. 

“Now you understand how I couldn’t discuss the 
length of my sleeves with Miss Perkins. Don’t 
you, Mr. Mammon? ” 

‘Indeed I do. Poor little girl! But I’ve got 
a surprise for you. Miss Perkins is an old ac- 
quaintance of mine, though she evidently doesn’t 
recognize insignificant little me.” 

‘“What? ” said Dorothy, astounded. ‘“ Why 
didn’t you remind her you had met? ”’ 

‘Well, you see, it was she who tore up Mrs. 
Sandeman’s playing cards. I spotted her when her 
bright black eyes looked me up and down. I 
thought it wiser not to refer to an unfortunate 
episode.” 


A RESPITE 99 


“Well, I declare, that’s curious. Won’t Mrs. 
Sandeman be interested? Did I ever tell you that 
she proposed coming to see me some time? ”’ 

“Delicious! How the mighty have fallen! But 
really, I don’t think it would be safe, unless per- 
haps I came, too, as a go-between. You see, there 
would inevitably be fireworks.” 

“Ym afraid there would. Miss Perkins never 
balks at what she considers her duty.” 

‘““T don’t know when I’ve enjoyed anything so 
much as being called ‘young man,’” said the 
Major with a broad grin. “ It almost makes me 
forget my forty odd years and my grey locks. I 
haven’t been called that since college days. Miss 
Perkins certainly doesn’t beat about the bush.” 

‘““No, indeed. And I always feel so small, and 
mean, and worldly, while she is so perfect.” 

“Terribly perfect—and perfectly terrible, I 
should say.” 

Dorothy laughed merrily. “Oh, no. You 
didn’t see the best side of her just now. You 
see, you interfered with work, writ with large 
capitals, and therefore you were anathema. That’s 
the whole explanation. I wish you knew her ab- 
solute devotion. I just love her and admire her. 
The fault is in me for being so worldly. But Ill 
improve.” 

‘“‘ Please don’t, or you can’t possibly survive.” 

Just then they turned a sharp corner and passed 
a straggling row of mud huts. A tiny puppy wob- 


100 RED BLOSSOMS 


bled out in front of the car. The Major pulled 
up sharply, but a terrific yelping indicated that 
some damage had been done. Dorothy jumped 
out, ran round, and found that the puppy’s tail had 
been pinned down under the front wheel. At her 
bidding the car moved forward and released it. 
She picked up the ugly little mongrel, gathered it 
in her arms, stroked and comforted it, and re- 
turned it to its careless little owner. 

‘“‘ Vve often wondered,” she sighed as they drove 
on, “ why puppies are so much nicer than dogs, 
and kittens than cats, and babies than grown-ups. 
That was a dear, wriggling little fellow; but in a 
few months he’ll be the usual, snarling, vicious 
pie-dog.” 

“Tl go farther than you, and say that some 
dogs are far nicer than lots of people.” 

‘““T guess you’re right. We had a lovely collie 
at Sayton—where I was brought up, you know. 
When I thought people on I’d go and tell it 
all in Bunty’s ear. 

‘““And I bet you she understood every word.” 

“Of course she did. She’d cock her head on 
one side and listen with the most intelligent inter- 
est. Then she’d put a paw up on my knee, as much 
as to say, ‘Never mind. I know all about it. Hor- 
rid folk aren’t worth bothering about. Come on 
and play.’ And then I’d laugh and feel all right. 
I often wish I had her here.” 

‘It’s just about impossible to keep collies in 


A RESPITE 101 


India, and they’re too hot to be happy. A fox 
terrier is as safe as any. Did you ever think of 
getting a dog? ” 

“Yes, I’ve often thought of it, but I simply 
daren’t suggest such a thing. Miss Perkins isn’t 
in the least ‘ doggy.’ I don’t believe she’d allow 
a dog round the place. And then, you know—awful 
thought!—it might damage those priceless red and 
green crocheted antimacassars on the sofa!” 

“Then for goodness’ sake get a dog at once.” 

Dorothy laughed delightedly. ‘Those anti- 
macassars are a frightful eyesore to me. I can’t 
seem to get used to them at all. I try not to see 
them, but when I’m all tired out, they seem to rise 
off the sofa and flaunt themselves triumphantly in 
front of my weary eyes. I sit right opposite them 
at meals. I can’t escape them.” 

“Couldn’t you make away with them some- 
howe ” 

“ve thought of it, but I daren’t. A certain 
pair of bright black eyes would pierce my very 
soul and discover I was the culprit if they dis- 
appeared.” 

“You don’t think you could shut a puppy in 
that room overnight—accidentally, of course? 
You could safely leave it to him to remove some 
of the atrocities.” 

“Lovely! But I daren’t. Miss Perkins scares 
me to death—just like a great-aunt who ruled me 
when I was a child.” 


102 RED BLOSSOMS 


“You shouldn’t let yourself be scared. You 
should take the bull by the horns.” 

“T suppose I should,” replied Dorothy rather 
slowly and thoughtfully, “ but I’m not made that 
way, evidently.” And her companion, glancing at 
the delicately cut, sensitive profile beside him, 
mentally agreed. 

“Tell me about to-day,” he said. ‘‘ How long 
were you away?” 

And Dorothy told of the start at six in the morn- 
ing, the three-hours’ trundling in the bullock 
dumny over a rough road, the two hours’ open-air 
dispensary work in a dirty village, with the Indian 
Christian teacher to translate the people’s ailments 
and her remedies, the lunch under the meagre 
shade of a tree with an interested crowd watching 
every bite she ate, and then the hot drive back. 

“But why didn’t you rest there all afternoon 
and come back in the cool of the evening? ” 

“T had to start back at one o’clock, for Miss 
Perkins needs the dumny to-night, and she wanted 
the bullocks to have a rest.” 

“TI see. The bullocks’ convenience had to be 
considered, not yours,’’ and Dorothy was startled 
by the fierce glint that momentarily flickered in 
the usually mild blue eyes. ‘‘ I’m amazed to hear 
that that dreadful affair is your only way of get- 
ting about. To-day, for instance—let me see—you 
must have used up about six hours jogging along 
in it, to do a couple of hours’ dispensary work.” 


A RESPITE 103 


“Yes. I really think it a frightful waste of 
time and energy. I proposed getting a horse and 
buggy, but Miss Perkins won’t hear of it. She 
says she’s used a bullock dumny for twenty-five 
years, and she doesn’t see why anybody should 
want anything else.” 

‘“‘She’s as bad as the Indians. Whatever hath 
been in the past, is now, and evermore ought to 
be—that’s evidently her creed. JI wonder, now, 
whether she doesn’t actually enjoy the jolts, as 
being part of the discomforts of a holy life!” 

‘IT shouldn’t wonder,” agreed Dorothy with a 
smile. 

About six miles out of Anamabad they left the 
car and, followed by Sakharam and the lunch 
basket, climbed a hillock topped by a spreading 
banyan tree. They unpacked the wonderful con- 
tents of the wonderful basket, Dorothy keeping 
up an excited chatter and running commentary. 
“A white damask tablecloth! How like a man 
to bring that to a picnic! But I’m awfully glad 
you did. Ive been aching for the sight of one. 

Oh, chocolates wrapped in silver paper! I 
haven’t seen one since the Thanksgiving dinner at 
the Alexanders. . . . Ice cre-e-e-e-eam! Oh, 
how terribly civilized!” 

When the highly successful picnic dinner was 
over, Dorothy and her visitor-host strolled over to 
the banyan tree. 


104 RED BLOSSOMS 


‘A holy place, you see,” remarked the Major, 
pointing to a large oval stone daubed with red 
paint, in front of which lay coco-nut sherds and 
decayed flowers. 

“These little shrines always strike me as so 
pathetic,” said Dorothy, as they sat down on a 
fallen branch near by. “ This feeling out after 
the Unknown God, lest haply they might find Him: 
it makes me think so often of Paul’s words at 
Athens.” 

‘““And to think that now, two thousand years 
after the founding of Christianity, people are still 
feeling out after the Unknown, bowing down to 
pieces of wood or stone like that or worse.” 

“Worse, I should say. These roughly-painted 
stones aren’t nearly so repulsive to me as some of 
the hideous gods and goddesses in the temples. It 
beats me how grown-up men and women—edu- 
cated, too—can worship an image of a monkey, or 
an elephant-headed man, or a cobra. It seems 
such child’s play.” 

‘It does—to us. And of course some of the 
thoughtful Hindus insist that they worship the 
spirit back of the stone, and only use the images to 
concentrate their thoughts and visualize God.” 

“Perhaps so. But the poor ignorant folk that 
I work among don’t think anything about that. 
To them the tangible image or stone is the actual 
god. And they’re so earnest about it, so devoted.” 

‘That, to me, is one of the saddest yet one of 


A RESPITE 105 


the most hopeful things about India. The Indian 
is full of devotion. He wants to worship some- 
thing. In fact, he must worship something, but he 
doesn’t always know what. Let me tell you what 
I saw at the big festival at Pandharpur. I'll never 
forget it. I was allowed up on the temple roof, 
and looked down into a courtyard where crowds 
of men were waiting their turn to pass before the 
image of Vithoba and pay their respects. From 
that seething mass of humanity rose shout upon 
shout of adoration. Then they filed out and I 
looked down an airshaft and saw them passing into 
the shrine, each with his offering of flowers. Then 
I saw them pass out to an outer court where they 
prostrated themselves in ecstatic self-abasement, 
their faces transfigured with devotion—and the 
object of that devotion was a stone image decked 
out in silks and satins and jewels. It appalled 
me to think of that incalculable capacity for wor- 
ship directed to a stone.” 

“Tt will take a long time to re-direct it higher.” 

‘““Many generations. I wonder if you ever 
heard this little poem?” and the Major took a 
clipping from his pocket-book and read: 


“* Land of the shimmering sea and stately palm, 
Recurrent restlessness, majestic calm! 
Land of the sun-parched plain and snow-pearled peak, 
Sublimely strong, pathetically weak! 
Land of unfathomed age, yet fount of youth, 
Swiftest yet slowest in the Quest of Truth! 


106 RED BLOSSOMS 


‘ Of old, in cave and cell and hermitage, 

In forest dim dwelt many a sainily sage, 
Striving by prayer and penance for the key 
To ope the door of Karma and be free. 

Vet millions now bow down to wood and stone, 
That haply they may find the Great Unknown, 


“Land of the Quest, I hear within thy breast 

The throb of that great heart that yearns for rest. 
I come to claim thee, thus the Master saith. 

‘I am the goal of all thy groping faith, 

Thy longing and thy love. Come unto Me. 

Thy quest is ended. I can make thee free.” 


And then the young missionary and her friend 
talked quietly and thoughtfully of many things, 
drawn together by a common love of that great 
land that stretched before them—so vast, so un- 
happy, so impelling in its needs. 

But all too soon the sun silhouetted a few strag- 
gling trees on the horizon, and they rose to go. 
Dorothy’s heart was filled with a great peace and 
a great refreshing, for their talk had reminded her 
that hers was not a lonely task, however isolated, 
but that she was one of a great multitude of men 
and women who were working, in diverse ways, for 
the uplift of the land they loved. 

And yet, when she had said good-bye to her 
friend at the compound gate, and had listened to 
the last throb of the engine as the car dwindled 
out of sight, she felt like some poor exile on a 
desert island watching the departure of the ship 
that had brought a message from the outer world. 


XI 
RUTH ALEXANDER TO THE RESCUE 


ELLO!” 
H “Hello! Is that 22xv?” 
“Yes.” 


‘““Can I speak with Dr. Brentner, please? ” 

“He’s with a patient just now, but Tl ask 
Doe ay ieee 

+ Hello!” 

“ Dr. Brentner?. ” 

“Yes. Who is speaking? ” 

“This is Mrs. Alexander. Good morning.” 

“Oh, good morning, Mrs. Alexander. Coming 
down to see me? ” 

“No, thank goodness.” 

““ Now, I call that real mean. Am I not always 
gentle and kind and patient with you? ” 

““H’m, perhaps! But I want to send down a 
nice young lady to see you.” 

‘“‘Sounds exciting. But, honestly, I haven’t a 
spare five minutes all day. I’m absolutely booked 
up—and then some.” 

“You simply must see her. Three minutes 
will do.” 

‘““Now, how on earth do you happen to know 


thate:7 
107 


108 RED BLOSSOMS 


“Well, Pll tell you. This young lady has got 
to be made to stay with me at least a week, other- 
wise she’ll have a bad breakdown. I’m going to 
enlist your help. I believe the stopping of a tooth 
fell out—excuse me, I should call it ‘ filling,’ 
shouldn’t IP Anyway, I want you to insist that 
it will take a week to complete the job.” 

‘“‘ And how am I, a countryman of George Wash- 
ington’s, to stoop to such deceit? ” 

‘“‘Dear me, have you no imagination? Can’t 
you ask her to come down every day and have the 
nerve dressed?—or use some other stock phrase? 
You're surely clever enough to invent some high- 
falutin’ formula just to oblige an old friend like 
me. 

““T see. Well, what is my reward to be for per- 
juring my soul? ” 

“Reward? Let me think. Oh yes, you can 
come to dinner on Friday.”’ 

“ Right-o, it’s a bargain. Now I must run. 
I left a patient with a gag in his mouth. He’ll be 
purple with indignation or apoplexy. By the way, 
what is the young lady’s name? ” 

“Miss Maxwell. She’s tall and fair and very 
good-looking, but frightfully fagged out.” 

“Tell her to call at four-thirty, then. Thank 
you for the invitation. Good-bye till Friday.” 

“Good-bye. And don’t forget—a week at 
least.” 

With a sigh of relief and a smile of supreme _ 


RUTH ALEXANDER TO THE RESCUE 109 


satisfaction Ruth Alexander hung up the receiver 
and went upstairs to the guest room. 

“‘ May I come in, my dear? ” she called. “‘ Well, 
I ’phoned Dr. Bretner. He said at first he was 
absolutely booked up for all to-day. But I begged 
a few minutes for you, and he’ll see you at four- 


thirty.” 

“ Four-thirty? ” echoed Dorothy Maxwell 
aghast. “ But I meant to catch the afternoon 
mail!” 


“Impossible! You’re lucky to get an appoint- 
ment at all. March is about the worst month for 
the dentist. Everybody is going Home and up- 
country folks pay him a visit en route. Last time 
I was down he told me he was refusing scores of 
would-be patients.” 

‘‘Oh dear, what shall I do? I promised Miss 
Perkins to be back to-night without fail.” 

“Tl send her a wire directly. Just tell me 
what to say.” 

“Say, ‘ Travelling by the evening mail.’ ” 

Mrs. Alexander was nonplussed for a moment. 
Then she brightened up. “Tl tell you what, 
Dorothy,” she said briskly. ‘ Let’s wait till you 
see what the dentist says about your tooth. Per- 
haps he can’t finish you off in one sitting. 

“Then [ll have to go with it unfinished.” 

‘“‘ My dear, don’t be foolish. I thought you told 
me you had lost three nights’ sleep.” 

‘So I have.” Dorothy was sitting relaxed in 


110 RED BLOSSOMS 


a low wicker chair, her arms hanging listlessly by 
her side, her thin cheeks flushed with pain, her 
whole attitude betokening the most profound lassi- 
tude. Her friend and hostess was bustling round, 
drawing the bed into the airiest spot in the room, 
adjusting a sun-blind, unstrappping the hold-all. 

‘“And are you still enjoying India, my dear? ” 
she queried cheerfully, diplomatically ignoring the 
appalling change in Dorothy’s appearance. 

“Oh, yes, immensely,” came the weary reply. 

“Tt must be getting pretty hot these days in the 
Deccan, isn’t it? ” 

‘“Horribly. In the middle of the day you can 
see the heat vibrations quivering, and feel them 
strike you. It’s exactly like a stokehold.”’ 

“But you’re never out in the middle of the 
day?” | 

‘“Oh yes, very often—in fact, usually.” 

‘““T wish you’d tell me your usual programme. 
I’m really quite ignorant but awfully interested. 
You see, life in the Deccan is an entirely different 
matter from life in Bombay.” 

Dorothy sketched a typical day’s work. 

Ruth Alexander sat down on the floor by the 
open hold-all, her guest’s dressing-gown in her 
hand. She gazed at Dorothy. ‘“‘ Then you’re 
doing two hours’ study and about six hours of 
medical work or travelling every day.” 

‘About that. It varies of course with the vil- 
lages I happen to go to.” 


RUTH ALEXANDER TO THE RESCUE i111 


‘““And your meals? Are they always on time? ” 

““N-no. You see, Miss Perkins is often delayed. 
If a poor fellow has walked ten or twelve miles 
from his village, you can’t very well send him off 
just because it happens to be your breakfast hour.” 

‘““Can’t you? He’d probably enjoy sitting round 
and gossiping for an hour or so; and he’d think 
twice as much of the interview if he had to wait 
for it. Time is no object to most of the Indians 
you have to deal with. But tell me, what is the 
latest time you ever have breakfast.” 

“Tt’s usually about half-past eleven, but some- 
times quite a little later.” 

“How much later? Out with it.” 

“Well, yesterday it was after one.” 

“After one? My child, that is dreadful. Why 
can’t Miss Perkins let you have your breakfast on 
time, and take hers when she’s ready? ” 

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of asking it. It’s just 
that she’s so wonderful, so devoted, so p-p-perfect. 

.’ And then Dorothy did something that 
surprised herself far more than it surprised her 
friend. She suddenly burst into tears and cried as 
though her heart would break. 

Sympathetic Ruth, kneeling on the floor, gath- 
ered her in her arms and silently comforted her. 
“Poor little girl,’ she thought. ‘“‘ I know what’s 
the matter. I know all the symptoms. Overwork, 
loneliness, uncongenial company—they’ve killed 


112 RED BLOSSOMS 


off more young missionaries than the Indian cli- 
mate, though it always gets the blame.” 

When the paroxysm had somewhat subsided 
Ruth said, “Now, my dear, we won’t talk any 
more now. I hear the boy knocking at the dress- 
ing-room door. Have a hot bath and a good sleep 
if possible, and Ill look in just before breakfast 
and see whether you feel like coming down. 

“Oh, Mrs. Alexander, I’m so ashamed of my- 
self,’ sobbed Dorothy. ‘I don’t know what’s the 
matter with me. I’m behaving like an hysterical 
schoolgirl. I never did this in my life before.” 

“Don’t you worry. After three nights’ loss of 
sleep I would be a howling maniac. Your nerves 
are probably upset with the pain in your tooth. 
And the hot days are always trying. But I can’t 
for the life of me understand why you didn’t come 
down the moment the stopping fell out.” 

‘“ Miss Perkins felt I couldn’t possibly get away. 
She calls it ‘stuff and nonsense,’” and Dorothy 
smiled a watery smile of reminiscence. 

‘““Has she never had toothache? ”’ 

“Never. She has perfect teeth—all because 
she’s never gone to a dentist all her life, she says!” 

Mrs. Alexander burst out laughing. ‘“‘ Delicious! 
Perfect teeth because she’s never gone to a den- 
tist! I must tell Charles that,” and she waved a 
cheery adieu to her guest and went off to the ac- 
cumulated tasks of the morning. 

Ruth Alexander was one of those rare women 


RUTH ALEXANDER TO THE RESCUE 1138 


who are blessed with a mental compass so deli- 
cately poised, so magnificently perfect, that its 
sympathetic needle invariably points to the big- 
gest job on their horizon. Her life was packed 
full of routine duties, of social calls, of the hun- 
dred and one contingencies that crop up in India 
and upset the most carefully planned schedule. 
Yet she responded instantly to a cry of special 
need, and her heart was forthwith “ at leisure from 
itself to soothe and sympathize.” She had a 
genius for happy solutions of knotty problems— 
her own and other people’s. Her fortunate hus- 
band had long since discovered this and had bene- 
fited by it. His pet phrase in all emergencies was, 
*“‘ Leave it to the Commanding Officer.” 

This priceless quality of intelligent and practical 
sympathy, partly inherent, partly acquired, had 
gained for her the gratitude, the love, the adora- 
tion of innumerable friends. Indian women with 
refractory husbands, Indian men out of work and 
out of tune with life, rival parties at deadly strife 
over some insignificant trifle, orphan boys and girls 
who called her ‘‘ Mother,” lonely bachelors re- 
cently out from Home and suffering pangs of 
homesickness, new brides struggling with the intri- 
cacies of Indian housekeeping, weary young mis- 
sionaries obsessed with grave doubts as to their 
own worthiness—all these found in Ruth Alexan- 
der a friend who was never too busy to listen, who 
never thought their visit an intrusion, whose kind 


114 RED BLOSSOMS 


hazel eyes brimmed with understanding and good- 
will, who sent them away feeling immeasurably 
comforted and strengthened and refreshed. 

Of all those who came to her for help, Ruth had 
a special tenderness for the young missionaries. 
She knew all about the doubts and fears and per- 
plexities, the heart-burnings, the self-accusations, 
the spiritual battles. She often smiled to think 
how many dear, good people at Home take it for 
granted that missionaries thoroughly enjoy their 
hardships: that in entering upon their chosen voca- 
tion they automatically become immune to hunger 
and thirst, heat and cold; that the ravages of white 
ants and cockroaches and rats in their few precious 
belongings leave them unmoved; that they hear 
with only a glow of consecrated resignation a sud- 
den crash of irreplaceable china-ware; that they 
positively relish a close acquaintance with snakes 
and scorpions and with the lesser pests that sting 
and bite and creep and crawl by day and by night; 
that they cheerfully bury all their social and ar- 
tistic instincts; that in lonely outposts they never 
crave the amenities of civilization; that when two 
or three of them foregather together they invari- 
ably dwell in perfect brotherly and sisterly unity, 
in honour preferring one another! 

True, they do learn to put more and more value 
upon the treasure of heaven, and less and less 
value on the treasure which moth and rust do cor- 
rupt and which Indian thieves do break through 


\ 


RUTH ALEXANDER TO THE RESCUE 115 


and steal. A few, like Miss Perkins, attain a state 
of supreme indifference towards anything but 
MISSION WORK, writ large. But the great ma- 
jority, alas, remain, to the end of the chapter, just 
plain human— intensely, uncomfortably, painfully, 
horribly human! 

When Ruth Alexander’s quick eye noted Doro- 
thy’s precarious condition, she felt it imperative to 
devote herself to this sensitive young life fighting 
against so great odds. As usual, she consulted 
her Oracle. 

“Charles, I’m worried.” 

“‘ Where’s your notebook and pencil, C. O.? ” 

“Oh, I’m not at that stage yet. I haven’t got 
my facts to work on.” 

“ Better hurry up, or there won’t be anything 
to work on. That slip of a girl will slip through 
your fingers and be promoted to the next world. 
I hardly recognized her when she came off the 
train. She looks ten years older, and must have 
lost about fifteen pounds.” 

“TI know it. That dreadful Miss Perkins is 
wearing the child to a frazzle, as Dr. Brentner 
would say, but she won’t own it.” 

“Ruth, ve an idea. Let’s go up to Anamabad, 
and beard the lioness in her den. I’d enjoy a tus- 
sle. I’m in fairly good condition,” and he felt his 
biceps complacently. 

‘““Oh, Charles, you dear, I’d love to see the en- 
counter. I don’t believe Miss Perkins would flinch 


116 RED BLOSSOMS 


for a moment, in spite of your six feet odd. But 
really, it isn’t as bad as all that yet. Ill pump 
Dorothy, and then think out something less 
drastic.” 

“ Right-o, C.O. I’m at your service of course.” 

Ruth was worrying quite a little over the pro- 
spective argument with Dorothy when the dentist 
should have, according to instructions, suggested 
a week’s treatment. But Fate was surely working 
on her side. As they were stepping into the car at 
four o’clock, she caught sight of a khaki-clad indi- 
vidual sitting on the step of the cookroom, engaged 
in an animated conversation with the cook. His 
legs were stretched out luxuriously, his turban was 
pushed back at an undignified angle, his whole 
bearing suggesting the delightful pose of the man 
of leisure. 

“That looks uncommonly like a telegraph mes- 
senger,’’ quoth Ruth. 

She clapped her hands vigorously. The sprawl- 
ing figure pulled itself together with a start, hastily 
adjusted its turban, came forward with a profound 
salaam, and produced from the leather pouch at 
its waist a yellow envelope. 

“You rascal,” cried Mrs. Alexander. ‘‘ What 
were you doing sitting there instead of delivering 
your message at once? ” 

‘Kind Mudumsahib,” replied the man, “I 
bringing the message quickly. But your boy he 


RUTH ALEXANDER TO THE RESCUE 117 


say, ‘No disturbing Mudumsahib now. Mudum- 
sahib in bath-tub.’ So what could I do?” And 
he turned his hands out and looked up to heaven 
to witness his blamelessness. 

“Well, I declare,” cried Ruth. “ Listen to this, 
Dorothy. ‘Keep Maxwell one week. Perkins.’ ”’ 

Dorothy gazed blankly at the pink paper, then 
at her friend. 

“ You’re not playing a trick on me? ” she asked. 

“Dorothy, dear, I wouldn’t do that. Look at 
the name of the station where it was sent off— 
Anamabad, at seven-thirty-five this morning.”’ 

“TI beg your pardon, Mrs, Alexander. I 
shouldn’t have asked that. But I can’t believe 
my eyes. Miss Perkins said not long ago that 
those engaged in the Lord’s work had no need of 
telegrams. I don’t believe she ever sent one from 
Anamabad before. What can it mean? ” 

‘“‘ It means that you’re going to settle down here 
for a week and forget Anamabad. Bombay isn’t 
exactly a health resort in March, but the change 
and the rest will do you heaps of good. Now, my 
mind is absolutely at peace,” and Ruth threw in 
the clutch and started off and out of the compound 
with a flourish, for she felt that she had the ap- 
proval of heaven. 


XIT 
EXPLANATIONS 


Dorothy accepted the unspoken invitation to 

confide. ‘‘ Mrs. Alexander,” she said hesitat- 
ingly one day, “I feel I’m all on the wrong track, 
somehow. When I compare myself with Miss 
Perkins, I feel I’m a dead failure.” 

“ But we can’t all be Miss Perkinses. In fact, 
it wouldn’t do if we were. The most effective mis- 
sionary I ever knew was a saintly little invalid 
who lay on her back for twelve years before her 
friends were bereft of her.” 

“Really? I wish I had known her. I get so 
awfully depressed about myself. There’s such a 
lot I’d like to talk over with you.” 

<4 Do.” 

“But have you time? ” 

“Heaps and heaps,” prevaricated Ruth cheer- 
fully. ‘‘Let’s take your difficulties one by one, 
and find a solution.” 

And Mr. Alexander smiled knowingly when his 
wife dashed into his office one morning for a 
pencil. 

‘““T perceive by the light of battle in her eye and 
the notebook in her hand,” quoth he, “ that the 
C. O. has a particularly brilliant plan of campaign.” 

118 


if the blissful week of complete relaxation, 


EXPLANATIONS 119 


‘“‘ Charles, my dear, I’ve just this moment got an 
idea—a great, big, beautiful zdea,” she called over 
her shoulder, and she disappeared into her guest’s 
room. 


When Dorothy Maxwell got home to Anama- 
bad, Miss Perkins was out at a village, so they did 
not meet until dinner-time; but the casual greet- 
ing, “‘ Well, child, feeling better? ” sounded quite 
cordial to Dorothy’s highly sensitized ears. The 
meal was much brighter than usual. Miss Perkins 
had a number of incidents to relate, and she ac- 
tually inquired about Dorothy’s doings in Bombay. 

But through it all the younger woman was pain- 
fully conscious of a momentous step to be taken by 
and by. Was her courage going to ooze out? Now 
that Miss Perkins was almost friendly, dare she 
risk making a certain revolutionary proposal? If 
crafty Ruth Alexander had not extracted a solemn 
promise to broach the subject within three days, 
she would probably have been sorely tempted to 
slide back into the old amenable ways. 

“Anyway,” she concluded to herself, “‘ I’ve still 
two days’ grace before I bring down a storm of 
wrath on my head.” 

When Dorothy was writing at her desk in her 
own room after dinner, she was astonished to hear 
the heavy footstep and the swish-swish she knew 
so well. She involuntarily straightened herself up 
as Miss Perkins entered. 


120 RED BLOSSOMS 


‘“T won’t keep you a moment, child, but I’ve 
something to say to you.” Dorothy’s heart sank. 

fh Ves) Miss Perkins ri? 

‘You were surprised to get that telegram from 
me in Bombay? ” 

“Very. I thought it so good of you to let me 
stay.” 

‘“‘ Well, the first night you were away, the Lord 
spoke to me in a dream.” 

Miss Perkins paused. Then she went on: 

“Yes, in a dream—and about you.” 

‘““ About me? ” 

“Yes, about you. I needn’t tell you all the 
dream, but this is what He said,” and the little 
figure swelled out and spoke solemnly and em- 
phatically, as though reciting Holy Writ. ‘‘ The | 
Lord said, ‘ Mary Anne Elizabeth Perkins, I gave 
thee the doctor thou hadst begged for twenty years, 
and thou art flinging away the gift.’ And I said, 
‘How so, Lord? Thou knowest that I have 
thanked Thee day and night upon my knees.’ 
‘True,’ said the Lord, ‘ but thou dost not under- 
stand how fragile nor how precious is my gift, and 
thou art treating it as some coarse clay.’ And I 
said, ‘Show me the way, Lord.’ And, child, the 
Lord showed me the way. Now, I know I’m a 
hard woman, hard on myself and hard on others, 
but the Lord never yet spake to me in vain.” 

“Oh, Miss Perkins, dear Miss Perkins,” cried 
Dorothy, profoundly touched. “I’ve been so 


EXPLANATIONS 121 


happy here, only distressed and impatient with 
myself for getting so easily tired. I’ve felt so un- 
worthy to be your colleague.” 

“Tut, child, stuff and nonsense. I was pretty 
green myself at your age. Of course, Lady Brix- 
ton made a great mistake in sending out a frail 
little bit of a thing like you—just a bairn yet, for 
all you’re a doctor. But now that you’re here, 
we'll have to make the best of a bad job. To come 
to the point, you’re to go to Mahableshwar.”’ 

‘“ Mahableshwar? ” echoed Dorothy, astounded. 

‘Yes, and it’s all settled, so you needn’t say a 
word. Off you go in a fortnight to Mahableshwar, 
and you'll stay six weeks, and you'll study your 
Marathi, and get all braced up.” 

“Oh, Miss Perkins, how good of you to think 
of it! But I’m afraid I can’t possibly get a room 
now. I heard it was to be packed this season.” 

‘““H’m,” snorted the Unconquerable One. “ You 
surely don’t think that Mary Anne Elizabeth Per- 
kins would be beat off for a room, when the Lord 
had spoken to her? You're to be with Mrs. Talbot 
at Geranium Lodge.” 

“With Mrs. Talbot?” cried Dorothy, almost 
faint with surprise and joy. ‘“ How perfectly 
lovely!” 

‘“‘ Well, to be sure, I hope you'll think it lovely. 
You haven’t a room exactly. They’re putting up 
a little chupper for you—a straw house in the com- 
pound, you know. I wired Mrs. Talbot the same 


122 RED BLOSSOMS 


morning I wired you—yjust after the dream, you 
know. Here’s her answer. You can read it after- 
wards.” 

“How can I ever thank you enough, Miss 
Perkins? ” 

‘“No thanks but to the Lord, though no doubt 
that Major-man will take all the credit.” 

“That Major-man? ” 

‘“T thought you called that young person who 
was here, Major Something-or-other? ” 

“Oh, Major Sutherland? ” 

‘Perhaps. Major Fiddlesticks would do as 
well. He wrote to me and said you wouldn’t last 
six months unless you got off to the Hills.” 

‘““T never knew he wrote.” 

“Why should you, child? It was a private 
matter between him and me. He knows nothing 
whatever about what a devoted missionary can or 
cannot do, if she is willing; and I let him know 
that jolly quick. However, as I said, the Lord 
took up the matter, and I listened to Him. Now, 
off to bed with you.” 

And then something urged Dorothy to take ad- 
vantage of this intimate talk to broach the subject 
that was positively burning a hole of apprehension 
in her amenable mind. “ By the way, Miss Per- 
kins,” she blurted out timidly, as her intrepid col- 
league was nearing the door, “I, too, have been 
having a good hard ‘ think’ over various problems, 
and though I hadn’t a dream, I have a suggestion 


EXPLANATIONS 123 


to make that might help us both. You know, that 
room we have for the dispensary is far too small. 
Besides, I simply must have a place where I can 
accommodate a few specially urgent cases.” 

“Well, well,’ Miss Perkins kept repeating im- 
patiently. ‘“ What about it? I can’t give you any 
more room. You know that perfectly well.” 

““T know. I didn’t mean to ask you for any 
more room. But there’s that empty bungalow on 
the west side of the compound. It’s in pretty bad 
disrepair, but if the owner would make it habit- 
able, ’d rent it. The lower story would be capital 
for a dispensary and a couple of wards, and Susan- 
bai and I could have our quarters upstairs.” 

“And your meals? ” 

“IT thought I’d have separate housekeeping. 
Then, you see, I’d arrange my hours to suit the 
dispensary work, and that wouldn’t»interfere with 
you.” 

Dorothy stopped, breathless and apprehensive. 
Would it be “ stuff and nonsense’”’? Miss Perkins’ 
bright black eyes peered like jet beads over her 
spectacles. For a few moments there was tense 
silence. 

“Good idea!” she remarked at length, rapping 
the table with her forefinger. ‘ To tell the truth, 
child, it’s been a sore trial to have you here in the 
house.” 

Dorothy flushed. ‘ I’m very sorry,” she said. 

“Don’t be sorry, child. But you see, for five 


124 RED BLOSSOMS 


and twenty years I’ve come in and gone out and 
eaten and drunk when I pleased, or rather, as the 
Lord’s work gave me opportunity. But now I’ve 
had to think of another person’s convenience, and 
have meals at a certain moment, even though some 
poor sinner was sitting waiting for me to show him 
the way of life; and so on, and so on. I tell you, 
it’s been a trial.” 

“1 do wish I had known,” said Dorothy. “TI 
might have thought of this new plan sooner.” 

“Never mind now, child. But you leave it all 
to me. Ill manage it all. When you come back 
from Mahableshwar you'll find your bungalow 
standing repaired and cleaned, and all ready for 
you to step into. I'll get it done at once. I'l get 
it done cheap, too. And Ill look you out a re- 
spectable couple, the man to cook, and the woman 
to do the housework. You leave everything to 
me.” And Miss Perkins fairly bristled at the pros- 
pect of a big job to organize. 

‘Oh, you dear,” cried Dorothy, between tears 
and laughter; and to her own amazement the cold, 
undemonstrative, imperturbable young stoic found 
herself hugging the redoubtable Miss Perkins. 

“Tut, child,” snorted Miss Perkins, disengaging 
herself, and blinking like an owl over her spec- 
tacles. ‘‘ Off to bed with you, and no more pala- 
ver,” and away swept the quaint figure, leaving 
Dorothy thrown back in her chair, staggered and 
stunned with happiness. 


XITI 


IN THE COOL GREEN WOODS OF 
MAHABLESHWAR 


ap HE imposing range of the Western Ghauts 
extends for nearly seven hundred miles, 
roughly parallel to the west coast of 
India, and exercising a prodigious influence on the 
climate, peoples and industries of the adjacent 
regions. 

The narrow strip of coastland, the Konkan, is 
indented by innumerable creeks, is blessed with 
plentiful moisture, and supports a hardy race of 
fisherfolk and small agriculturists. The people of 
the Konkan are optimists. 

East of the barrier of mountains stretches the 
dry Deccan, that vast and unfortunate area that 
is cursed with inadequate rainfall even in normal 
seasons, that raises its millet crops only by dint of 
hard work and the help of primitive irrigation, and 
that has learned by long and irrefutable experience 
to expect a famine every three years or so. The 
people of the Deccan are pessimists. 

The Ghauts rear themselves in stupendous dig- 


nity. The destructive torrents of incalculable 
125 


126 RED BLOSSOMS 


rainy seasons have beat upon them, breaking every- 
thing that would break, crumbling everything that 
would crumble. Here and there where the rock 
was tractable, fantastic relics project into the 
heavens—spires and pinnacles, domes and mina- 
rets, gnarled pyramids, leaning towers, ponderous 
pillars, twisted stumps, fragile columns. But for 
the most part, the mountains consist of huge 
masses of basalt, their tops barren, their bases cov- 
ered with vegetation, and their precipitous sides 
gashed with watercourses which become cataracts, 
large and small, for three months in the year. 

A hundred miles south-east of the city of Bom- 
bay, the mountains throw off into the Konkan the 
plateau of Mahableshwar. Four thousand feet 
and more above sea-level, it sprawls on the plain 
like a huge, unwieldy green starfish, spreading out 
its rocky tentacles in every direction. Between 
these tentacles, modest streams scramble down 
through wooded gorges, meander along the level, 
and finally make their way either east or west to 
the sea. One of these numerous streams is the be- 
ginning of the sacred river Krishna. Starting 
towards the north, it turns east and pursues its 
sanctified course right across the country until it 
finds its rest in the Bay of Bengal. Its source has 
long been a place of worship and pilgrimage. 
Costly temples endowed with rich lands cluster 


THE WOODS OF MAHABLESHWAR 127 


round the holy spot, which is believed to give birth 
to five mighty rivers. 

Near the end of the eighteenth century, an Eng- 
lishman in the retinue of the Peshwa of Poona 
mentions in his diary that he had visited the 
plateau of Mahableshwar; but it was not until 
thirty years later that white men sought it out and 
considered its possibilities as a hot-weather resort. 
Good roads were made; trees and shrubs were 
planted; wells were dug; a lake was damned up; 
numerous bungalows were built. Finally, the Gov- 
ernment of Bombay decided to make Mahablesh- 
war its headquarters for April and May of each 
year. 

The hill-station immediately grew by leaps and 
bounds, and now boasts its English club, race- 
course, golf-course, tennis courts, churches, hos- 
pital. Every hot season it teems with both Indian 
and white folk—Government officials, business 
men, globe-trotters, missionaries. Every bungalow, 
every hotel, is crammed to its utmost capacity, and 
little straw huts appear like mushrooms overnight, 
to provide overflow accommodation. At this alti- 
tude many flowers are found that cannot thrive on 
the Plains, so homesick hearts are gladdened by 
the sweet-scented orchids in the woods, and the 
nasturtium, phlox, begonias and other familiar 
favourites in the gardens, while jaded palates are 
tickled by the fresh fruits and vegetables that 
smack of Home. 


128 RED BLOSSOMS 


(Letter from Dorothy Maxwell to Mrs. Alexander) 
GERANIUM LODGE, 
MAHABLESHWAR. 
May 10, 1914. 
DEAR RUTH: 

I was delighted to get your letter of the 2nd, 
and to hear what a good time you were all having 
at Ooty. Give my love to Billy and Betty, and 
tell them I am looking forward to renewing their 
acquaintance next Thanksgiving. 

I envy you your wood stove. Here it has not 
been cold enough for fires, though it is pleasantly 
cool nights and mornings. 

Life here is tremendously enjoyable, so enjoy- 
able that I often have qualms as to whether it 
really can be right for me to have such a glorious 
holiday when poor Miss Perkins is sweltering in 
self-abnegation in fiery Anamabad. But I always 
manage to stifle my qualms and saw wood. I am 
finding Marathi horribly hard wood to saw, even 
with the help of two excellent pundits and with 
classes every day at the Language School. My 
greatest comfort is the fact that there are a dozen 
greenhorns at about the same stage of despair as 
myself, so I am by no means the only one who 
trembles when the direct-method teacher dives into 
his box, produces a knife or fork or spoon or other 
implement of torture, and demands in Marathi, 
“What is this? ” 

I’m trying hard to be a better ‘‘ mixer,” and I’m 


THE WOODS OF MAHABLESHWAR 129 


succeeding wonderfully—for me! Ruth, you with 
your easy, cordial, friendly manner, simply can’t 
realize the agonies of shyness! To stand tongue- 
tied and aloof and get the reputation of being 
“ stiff? or even snobbish, when you're feeling per- 
fectly genial and are lashing yourself to think of 
something suitable to say—I can assure you it is 
humiliating. However, as I say, ’'m improving. 
I’ve made quite a number of new acquaintances, 
mostly language students, and we’ve gone for pic- 
nics in the woods, and long tramps out to the 
Points to see the view. 

Last Friday a bunch of us trekked down the 
valley to Pratapgud, stayed overnight at the dak 
bungalow, and then climbed Shivaji’s Fort the next 
morning. Then we are planning a four-days’ hike 
over the mountains. So, you see, although I am 
boning in to study, I get plenty of relaxation, and 
lots of opportunities to blow away the Marathi 
cobwebs. 

I’m also getting a liberal and gratis education 
in mission matters. There are ten of us at Gera- 
nium Lodge, and we represent seven denomina- 
tions! We don’t talk shop very much, but, espe- 
cially when the post comes, some harassed mis- 
sionary can’t help spilling over and telling us his 
or her particular problem. Peculiar problems 
seem to have a habit of cropping up whenever the 
missionaries go to the Hills! I usually sit stilk 


130 RED BLOSSOMS 


and listen and try to imbibe as much information 
as I can, for of course I’m too new and inexperi- 
enced to have opinions worth repeating. But it’s 
interesting how many things have come to my 
notice here that I myself have run up against in 
Anamabad. 

The pay and status of Indian teachers and 
preachers, how to test a would-be convert, what 
to do with a Hindu with two wives who wants to 
become a Christian, how to deal with backsliders 
and other unworthies, how to put a little more 
backbone into the Christian community, how to 
reduce the fifty per cent infant mortality—I have 
heard Miss Perkins descant on all these. She 
never asks my advice, of course, but she makes 
statements and thinks aloud, and then decides ac- 
cording to her own sweet will—and prejudices! 

Really, Ruth, to be frank, even I can see that 
her judgment is not infallible. For instance, she 
has a few favourites who get salaries far beyond 
their qualifications or deserts. I’m certain that 
everybody knows they are rascals. But they have 
a ““ way ” with them, and have pulled the wool over 
Miss Perkins’ eyes for years, so nobody dare say 
a word. Things like that make me realize acutely 
the disabilities of an independent venture which all 
hangs on one woman’s judgment and another 
woman’s money. It is isolated, abnormal and 
without permanence. In fact, ‘ L’état, c’est moi!’ 


THE WOODS OF MAHABLESHWAR 131 


—-the Mission, it is Miss Perkins! And when she 
drops out it will fall to pieces. 

Well, to change the subject, I’ve great news for 
you. Mrs. Sandeman is in Mahableshwar and 
called on me. By the greatest good luck I hap- 
pened to be out, so Mrs. Talbot and she had a 
splendid opportunity to get acquainted with each 
other properly. They evidently succeeded fa- 
mously, for when Mr. Sandeman came up for a 
week-end we were both invited to dine with them 
at the Club. We enjoyed it immensely. It was 
refreshing to get into a new, non-missionary atmos- 
phere—of course Miss Perkins would dub it 
“ worldly ”! 

I’m so amused at Mrs. Sandeman. She is gen- 
uinely interested in us and our work, but she thinks 
it due to her dignity not to show it. Prejudice no 
doubt dies hard with her. The Sandemans are very 
fond of Major Sutherland and asked a great deal 
about him. They were surprised and interested to 
hear that he had been to Anamabad. ‘ He’s a 
grand fellow—one of the best ”’—that was Mr. 
Sandeman’s man-like summing up. 

Well, I’m feeling so well and strong and rested 
now. In Anamabad the days were so full that 
there seemed no time to think, and my mind and 
soul seemed starved. But here, among the ever- 
lasting hills and in the inviting solitudes of the 
green woods, I am regaining both physical health 


182 RED BLOSSOMS 


and mental poise. I wonder if you remember 
Geranium Lodge, half a mile down the road from 
the little Union Church? It nestles in a kind of 
pocket between two ridges of the Plateau, and 
faces directly west. The woods have been cleared 
away in front, so you can look right down the val- 
ley, over the tops of the receding trees, and see a 
glint of silver here and there when the erratic little 
stream peeps out from the green. And beyond 
that, the hills loom in roughly parallel rows, with 
colourings constantly changing—greys and blues 
and amethysts that were never found on any 
earthly palette merging into each other and into 
the misty depths of transient cloudbanks, and then 
losing themselves somewhere between sea and sky. 

Have you anything quite as good as that at 
Ooty? And then the sunsets! Oh, Ruth, I just sit 
on the verandah breathless, while the weird ka- 
leidoscopic show goes on. I watch the red-gold 
kite, and the Chinese lantern, and the flattened 
orange, and the glowing hexagon, and finally the 
copper pear that sinks into the Indian Ocean forty 
miles away. No wonder folk used to worship the 
sun. 

And I just love my chupper with its quaint little 
door and window, and its haunting smell of hay 
that takes me right back to childhood days, and 
romps in the barn at Sayton. It is two hundred 
years old, that barn, and has belonged to the Jef- 


THE WOODS OF MAHABLESHWAR 133 


fersons all that time. Of course, I don’t need to 
tell you that the first Jefferson came over in the 
“‘ Mayflower ”’! 

This peace and privacy are making me look for- 
ward immensely to my new bungalow, though I 
can’t get any information from Miss Perkins as to 
how things are going. Her laconic postcards deal 
with strictly mission business. Oh, Ruth, to think 
I won’t have to be distracted with orphans reciting 
texts on the verandahs in the afternoon! To think 
I can have my meals when and how I like! To 
think that when I feel tired I can rest without the 
awful possibility (or rather probability) of Miss 
Perkins coming in, looking surprised, and then in- 
quiring icily whether I am ill! And to think I 
can invite my friends for a visit without asking 
permission from anybody! Oh, I feel joyfully, 
guiltily, wickedly independent! By the way, 
there’s no hurry for that furniture I asked you to 
get in Bombay. Just take your time when you get 
back from Ooty. 

Now, I’ve simply got to quit, and sidetrack my 
energies to Marathi grammar. Oh, by the way, I 
forgot to tell you that we’re going to the garden 
party at Government House next week. I’m so 
excited over it! What a thrill it gave democratic, 
Americo-Canadian me to receive the imposing in- 
vitation from Their Excellencies! The only flaw 
in the pleasures so far is the bother about a tonga. 


134 RED BLOSSOMS 


It’s really curious how scarce tongas suddenly be- 
come, when all Mahableshwar wants to drive out 
at the same time! The tonga wallahs are putting 
up their prices outrageously. However, I leave all 
these unpleasant details to long-suffering Mrs. Tal- 
bot, and have no doubt that we'll get there some- 
time, and somehow. 
With kind regards to all the family, 
Your affectionate and grateful friend, 
| DorotHy MAxwELL. 


XIV 
THE GARDEN PARTY 


S matters turned out, the tonga problem 
A was solved in an unexpected fashion. A 

couple of days before the event, Dorothy 
received a hasty note from Major Sutherland, say- 
ing that he was coming to Mahableshwar for the 
garden party and would call for her and Mrs. 
Talbot in a carriage and accompany them. 

Major Sutherland going to the garden party, and 
going with them! But why had he not written di- 
rectly to Mrs. Talbot? Letter in hand, Dorothy 
rushed to her friend’s room, and watched for a tell- 
tale blush as she broke the news. But Mrs. Talbot 
only looked pleased and relieved. ‘‘ How good of 
him, Dorothy,” she remarked. ‘‘ And what a dif- 
ference it will make to have a cavalier of our own! 
Now my mind is at rest, and I can call that rascally 
tonga wallah and tell him we have made other ar- 
rangements.”’ 

It was a very excited and anticipatory young 
person who waited on the verandah of Geranium 
Lodge. With her flushed cheeks and sparkling 
eyes, with her simple blue silk frock and shady 
hat, Dorothy Maxwell looked just a slip of a 
schoolgirl setting out for her first party. As she 


heard the sound of hoofs on the drive she started 
135 


136 RED BLOSSOMS 


up from her rocking-chair. Then she gasped and 
clutched at Mrs. Talbot’s arm; for a gorgeous pri- 
vate carriage had swung into sight, with its pranc- 
ing greys and its scarlet-liveried equerries. It 
drew up with a great flourish, and Major Suther- 
land, smiling and debonair as ever, stepped out and 
greeted his friends. 

“This is staggering,” said Mrs. Talbot. “I 
chuckle to think of a couple of ‘ poor, dear mis- 
sionaries ’ as some kindly folk call us, swaggering 
along in an equipage like this. I think ‘ equipage’ 
is the only term at all commensurate with the style. 
Did you beg, borrow or steal it? ” 

‘“‘T didn’t even ask for it,” replied the Major as 
he took his seat opposite the ladies. ‘It was of- 
fered to me, thrust upon me.” 

‘Really? Then you must have been hobnob- 
bing with Indian aristocracy. Dorothy and I have 
noticed this carriage in the bazaar. Somebody told 
us it belonged to the Rajah of Kaisangoo.” 

‘Exactly! And that’s why I’m here, bless him! 
His little son and heir had a slight operation last 
month, and I promised the Rajah-sahib that I’d 
take a run up here and look him over. So here I 
am, combining work with pleasure. I only wish 
I were free to-night, so that we three could have a 
little jollification a la ‘ City of Timbuctoo.’ But 
the Rajah-sahib is giving a dinner-party, so I 
couldn’t beg off. And Ill have to leave first thing 
in the morning for Poona.” 


THE GARDEN PARTY 137 


As the carriage skimmed along, Dorothy gazed 
up at the gorgeous personages on the box, and was 
acutely aware of the gorgeous personages perched 
behind her with their fly whisks waving in the 
wind. She imagined herself a fairy princess in a 
fairy dream, with a fairy carriage and attendants. 
Cinderella must have felt like this when she went 
in her pumpkin to the ball. But the very modernly 
attired male figure on the seat in front rather 
spoiled the illusion, so she tried to shake it off and 
to join in the conversation. 

The afternoon was a memorable one for a new- 
comer. The long line of guests filed up, to be in- 
troduced by the aide-de-camp. Their Excellencies 
stood on a raised platform with a smile and a cor- 
dial greeting for every one, and a special word for 
old acquaintances. Then the guests passed on and 
down to the grounds, where they watched a tennis 
tournament, played clock golf, ate refreshments 
in the big marquees, or strolled about admiring the 
incomparable view of the mountains and valleys. 

Major Sutherland introduced the Rajah-sahib, a 
fine-looking man of thirty or so, who spoke beauti- 
ful English and immediately proposed a foursome 
at clock golf. Dorothy, as the Major’s partner, 
played very badly, because she was so interested in 
her opponent’s long, yellow satin brocade coat, his 
heavy gold and ruby necklace, and his flaming 
orange silk turban ornamented with an aigrette 
fastened by a huge diamond brooch. This gaudy 


138 RED BLOSSOMS 


hero of an Oriental fairy-tale seemed so ludicrous 
as he manipulated a very Western putter. 

When the game was over and the Rajah of 
Kaisangoo took his leave, Mrs. Sandeman joined 
the party, and they found seats at a good vantage- 
point where they could enjoy their ices and cakes, 
and also the wonderful panorama of colour among 
the guests. 

Dorothy had visited few rich families in Anama- 
bad. Her work took her mostly among the very 
poor, those who were thankful for the coarsest cot- 
ton garments to cover them. Now she gazed in 
amazement at the beautiful Indian women with 
their voluminous folds of exquisite silks and satins, 
some fabrics fragile as cobwebs, others covered 
with heavy silver and gold embroidery. The 
dainty little feet were shod in the loose Indian slip- 
pers of red morocco, with broad, upturned toes, or 
else in up-to-date high-heeled shoes. On hair and 
throat and arms and fingers were priceless jewels. 
What was more, these cultured women walked 
alongside their menfolk, not behind them. 

Amid all the shimmering hues were quieter 
patches where English men and women mixed with 
their Indian friends. And all over the grounds one 
could pick out the Governor’s Indian bodyguard— 
those handsome six-footers with their scarlet tunics, 
white breeches, glossy black leggings, long lances, 
high blue turbans, and black beards parted in the 
middle and held back on either side by a hair net! 


THE GARDEN PARTY 139 


What a fancy fair it all was! It affected Dor- 
othy as did her first day in Bombay. But here 
were no squalid, sordid specimens of humanity. 
The cream of Indian and European society in 
Western India met here on equal terms. Near by, 
Her Excellency was standing chatting in animated 
and friendly fashion with a Maharajah clad, like 
the heroes of the Arabian Nights, in resplendent 
satin-brocaded coat and jewelled turban. Over 
there by the tennis courts was the Governor with 
a group of Indian ladies and gentlemen. Surely, 
surely, surmised the onlooker, the two races are 
coming to understand and appreciate each other 
when they can mingle on an occasion like this with 
the utmost manifestation of goodwill! 

By and by, the four friends started to stroll 
through the grounds. Dorothy thought this would 
be an excellent opportunity for Major Sutherland 
and Mrs. Talbot to have a private talk, so she de- 
termined to monopolize the fourth member of the 
party. But she was not quick enough. Mrs. 
Sandeman seized Mrs. Talbot’s arm and fell behind 
with her, so Dorothy was perforce obliged to walk 
with the Major. When she looked back a little 
later in the hope of changing partners, the ladies 
had got lost in the crowd, and they did not find 
them again until it was time to leave. 

As the swift Indian twilight descended, the 
guests began to head for the drive. There was 
shouting of numbers and orders as the long succes- 


140 RED BLOSSOMS 


sion of carriages drove up, received their human 
burdens, and hurried off. Dorothy soon found 
herself with a very Cinderella-like feeling, stepping 
once more into her elegant turn-out. Soon she 
would wake up and find the carriage and the prince 
and the party all a confused memory, and she 
would have to lash herself on to the task of wor- 
tying out the hieroglyphics of an impossible lan- 
guage! 

As the three friends bowled along towards Gera- 
nium Lodge they were almost silent. Dorothy was 
thinking how pleasant the day had been—pleasant 
beyond all anticipations. She had had almost an 
hour with her Desirable Big Brother, and a splen- 
did chance to tell him all about her new plans, and 
get his advice on them. Yet she was conscious of 
an undercurrent of disappointment. The two per- 
sons whom she believed to be specially interested 
in each other had had no chance to be together, 
and she felt herself the helpless obstacle. There 
would be no time now, for the Major had to go 
straight to the Rajah’s. She admired their self- 
possession, their magnanimity towards herself. 
But was it necessary to be quite so stoical? Or— 
awful thought!—could it possibly be that Mrs. Tal- 
bot was unresponsive, that she had actually avoided 
a téte-d-téte? What a puzzle life was! She roused 
herself when they reached home and the Major 
took a hurried farewell. 


THE GARDEN PARTY 141 


“Now,” said he, “‘ when shall we three meet 
again, in thunder, lightning or in rain’? ” 

“In rain most probably, or rather, the Rains,” 
replied Mrs. Talbot. ‘ This little girl has prom- 
ised to come to Poona for a week-end soon.” 

‘“‘ Splendid!” cried the Major. ‘‘ July? ” 

Dorothy shook her head. “September, most 
likely. That will break up the time nicely between 
now and Christmas.” 

‘““Oh, September? That’s an awfully long way 
off. This is only May. You really ought to see 
Poona in June or July. Shouldn’t she, Mrs. 
Talbot? ” 

‘““Of course she should. I’ve done my best to 
persuade her. However, we'll see.” 

‘“{ think Miss Perkins will probably see too,” 
remarked Dorothy with a twinkle in her eye. And 
they all laughed. 

And so one more episode was over, and hard 
study filled in Dorothy’s remaining days before 
the general exodus from Mahableshwar. Motors, 
Carriages, tongas, cycles, bullock-carts—these were 
all requisitioned to take back to the Plains the 
eager folk who had sought health and rest on the 
Hills. Pleasant house-parties were broken up and 
scattered to various districts of Western India. 
Empty buildings were ‘“ chuppered” with thick 
straw shutters against the coming deluge. And the 
birds and beasts, with a long sigh of relief, relapsed 
into their wonted freedom and privacy. 


XV 
THE NEW VENTURE 


y HEN Dorothy Maxwell descended to 
the Plains, she was amazed at the 

change in the landscape. Bare and 
brown as it had been in April, it was barer and 
browner now. Hardly a green blade was to be 
seen. The ground gaped with cracks. The roads 
were covered with inches of white dust. Man and 
Nature alike seemed to be panting for the coming 
Rains. 

But in the dull monotony of colour, her eye was 
arrested and her mind refreshed by the brilliance 
of the gold mohr tree. From the first moment she 
saw it this tree had an extraordinary effect on 
Dorothy’s imagination. From ground that is ap- 
parently burnt dry and colourless for want of 
moisture it raises a luxuriant crop of fronded green 
leaves and clusters of geranium-red blossoms. 
There must be, she pondered, some secret source 
of power. Nature must have a hidden reservoir 
of sustenance which she can draw upon in this dry 
and thirsty land. And as she sped onwards in the 
train she found herself watching eagerly for the 
sudden patch of vivid red blossoms in the barren 


landscape. The thought grew, though she could 
142 





THE NEW VENTURE 143 


not define it properly, that these blazing red blos- 
soms were symbolic—that they stood for things in 
the spiritual realm, the flowering of unexpected 
qualities from poor and unpromising soil. 

As the dumny swung into the compound at 
Anamabad, Dorothy’s heart beat high with ex- 
pectation, though she had been unable to extract 
any information from Miss Perkins beyond the 
bare fact that the new bungalow and the servants 
were ready. Susanbai, of course, was waiting by 
the steps. After an affectionate greeting Dorothy 
turned towards her old room, but was restrained 
by a brown hand on her arm. 

‘‘ Missy-sahib’s things all over in new house,” 
said Susanbai. ‘“ Breakfast ready there, please. 
Come.” 

“What? You don’t mean to say you’ve moved 
them over? Did you do it all yourself? ” 

‘‘ Some of it only, please,” replied Susanbai with 
a mysterious smile; and she and her beloved missy- 
sahib walked arm-in-arm across the parched brown 
“lawn,” through the turnstile recently made in the 
wall, and into the new domain. | 

“This way, please,” said Susanbai, leading the 
way upstairs, drawing aside a curtain, and usher- 
ing Dorothy into a cheerful room with a wide 
verandah on two sides. Her belongings were ar- 
ranged very nearly as they had been in the other 
bungalow, but there were bewildering additions— 
curtains and cushions of bright yellow cretonne, a 


144 RED BLOSSOMS 


rocking-chair, a new desk, a rotary fan, a lamp 
with a green shade. 

‘“ But have my things come from Bombay? ” 
she cried in amazement. ‘“ And I didn’t order all 
these!” 

‘“‘Missy-sahib soon finding out. Come this way, 
please,” and Susanbai proceeded into a bright little 
dining-room with whitewashed walls and ceiling, 
and straw-matted floor. In the middle stood a 
round table with covers laid for three. 

‘Why, Susanbai, who is coming for breakfast? ” 

‘“ Miss Perkins and one visitor.” 

“A visitor? I thought she never had any 
visitors.” 

‘““Not often, Missy-sahib,’ said Susanbai eva- 
sively. “‘ Now won’t you taking off things, please? 
Breakfast in ten minutes,” and she glided out. 

Dorothy threw aside her topi, sank down on a 
chair, and tried to adjust her bewildered thoughts. 
Then she jumped up and ran on to the verandah 
to see her view, and was thrilled to discover that 
a gold mohr tree reared itself close to the bungalow 
and sent out a branch laden with brilliant red blos- 
soms to touch her verandah. Then she caught 
sight of two figures walking across from the other 
bungalow. One of them was unmistakable, but 
the other? Dorothy strained her eyes and then 
gave a whoop of mixed amazement and delight. 
Ruth Alexander and Miss Perkins looked up and 
waved a welcome. 


THE NEW VENTURE 145 


It was the jolliest breakfast table that Dorothy 
had ever known in Anamabad. Miss Perkins was 
not only in excellent humour, but took pains to 
be agreeable. She tested Dorothy’s progress in 
Marathi by asking questions and then clapped her 
hands vigorously and cried “‘ Shabas!” if the an- 
swers were correct. Mrs. Alexander, as usual, radi- 
ated happiness and goodwill. 

When the meal was over and the swish-swish of 
the perennial black alpaca had retreated, Dorothy 
turned to her good angel. 

“You wonderful, wonderful woman,” she cried, 
‘“T never saw Miss Perkins like this before. Do 
tell me how you charmed the dragon.” 

“‘Oh, I’ve had the time of my life. She’s 
delicious.” 

‘“‘ But how did you ever get an invitation? ” 

‘Never got one. That’s the joke.” 

“Goodness! What happened? ” 

“Last Monday I wired that I was coming, and 
left Bombay before there was time for a reply. 
You see, I brought my own bedding and pro- 
visions, and a boy to cook for me, and I’ve been 
using all your new cooking vessels that I brought 
up for you. Cheek, wasn’t it? ” 

“Horrible cheek,” agreed Dorothy, “ especially 
as you had done nothing whatever for me,” and 
she pointed expressively over all her friend’s handi- 
work. “ But where on earth did all this furniture 
come from? Not half of it was on my list.” 


146 RED BLOSSOMS 


“You don’t mean to say you haven’t discovered 
yet? Come along and look.” 

In one of the pigeonholes of the desk was Mrs. 
Sandeman’s card. The student lamp was from Mr. 
Alexander, the rotary fan from Mrs. Talbot, the 
rocking-chair from Miss Cochran, and a folding 
table from Billy and Betty. 

Dorothy was speechless. 

“You see,’ explained her friend, “I just let 
folks know that you were setting up housekeeping. 
I knew they’d love to have a share in it. In fact, 
Mrs. Sandeman wrote me from Mahableshwar. 
You evidently had been telling her your plans.” 

“ T had,” agreed Dorothy. ‘ And now that I re- 
member it, she asked very particularly about a 
desk. HowstupidI am! Inever see through any- 
thing unless it’s put down in black and white. But 
what about the curtains and cushions and so on? ”’ 

“Oh, that’s nothing. I ran them up for you at 
Ooty—a pleasure, my dear, I assure you. To sew 
a brilliant yellow cretonne is a complete recreation 
from mission problems. By the way, I believe 
another piece of baksheesh is due to arrive this 
afternoon.”’ 

‘You witch!” cried Dorothy, “‘ but I don’t be- 
lieve I can stand any more,” and she bit her lips 
and turned away her head. 

“Well, my dear,’ continued tactful Ruth, 
“you asked me how I charmed the dragon. In 
the first place, from what I had heard of her, I 


THE NEW VENTURE 147 


had concluded that Miss Perkins was one of those 
women who love Power—with a capital P. They 
expect people to be afraid of them.” 

“You're right, Ruth, absolutely right. Dm 
afraid of Miss Perkins and she knows it. What’s 
more, I know that she knows that I know that she 
knows so much better than I. She’s exactly like 
a great-aunt of mine who ruled me from the time 
I was a baby.” 

“Well, I made up my mind that even if I felt 
horribly afraid of Miss Perkins away in my inner- 
most soul, I wouldn’t let her know it. She met me 
on the verandah with what was evidently meant 
to be an annihilating stare, and remarked that she 
wasn’t in the habit of entertaining unbidden guests. 
I was inwardly trembling. My knees knocked to- 
gether. I prayed that she wouldn’t hear them! 
But I smiled my very sweetest and assured her I 
hadn’t come as a guest. I was prepared to camp 
out, and meant to save her all the trouble of re- 
moving your possessions to the other bungalow. 
She turned away with a non-committal snort. So 
I set about my job and never intruded. On the 
second day she thawed a little and condescended 
to ask a few questions; and she has continued to 
thaw until, as you see, she has almost melted into 
a human being!” 

“ You’re a witch—that’s all there is about it,” 
laughed Dorothy. 

‘“ My dear, she’s an amazing woman. I’m thun- 


148 RED BLOSSOMS 


derstruck with admiration—though I can’t say I 
would enjoy living with her. But she’s a heart of 
gold tucked away somewhere under that boned 
bodice, and she’s awfully fond of you—though she 
wouldn’t show it for the world.” 


About five o’clock, when the two friends were 
sitting on the verandah exchanging experiences at 
Ootacamund and Mahableshwar, the sudden shriek 
of a motor-horn startled them. For one wild, fool- 
ish moment, the impossible idea flew into Doro- 
thy’s mind that it might be the same visitor who 
had come by car before. But the car that now 
approached contained only an Indian chauffeur. 

“What can it mean?” cried Dorothy. “No 
one in Anamabad has a car.” 

‘‘ Suppose we go downstairs and find out,” sug- 
gested Ruth innocently. 

When they reached the porch they found Sak- 
haram, Major Sutherland’s chauffeur, standing on 
the top step with a struggling puppy in one hand 
and a letter in the other. He salaamed and pre- 
sented the letter, which was in a familiar handwrit- 
ing. Dorothy excused herself, dashed upstairs, 
tore it open, and read: 


DEAR Dr. MAXWELL: 

Will you honour me by accepting two small 
gifts, one for yourself and one for your mission 
worke [Iam sure you will find the puppy a good 


THE NEW VENTURE 149 


companion. He may chew up a few shoes and rugs 
if not forcibly prevented; but if you provide a 
juicy rag he will probably concentrate on that. He 
is a good breed though not quite blue-blooded. 
Keep him off all meat for a year, and he will prob- 
ably avoid distemper. 

The car is a contribution to your mission work, 
in which, as you know, I am deeply interested. As 
a substitute for the dumny it will save many hours 
of valuable time, and many ounces of still more 
valuable energy. Use it as much as possible. I 
noticed that the roads around Anamabad are mod- 
erately good. There should be few days, even in 
the Rains, when you cannot get about in it. 

A pal of mine has gone home on leave and left 
me his roadster, so you must not think that you 
are depriving me of my means of transit by accept- 
ing my five-passenger. Sakharam, of course, is to 
do all the repairs and cleaning, and he knows 
enough English to teach you to drive, if you care 
to learn. Keep him as long as you wish. 

I hope you will like your new quarters, and I 
would be glad to hear how the new housekeeping 
progresses. 

With every good wish, 
Your sincere friend, 
PATRICK SUTHERLAND. 


As Dorothy did not reappear, Mrs. Alexander 
went upstairs to investigate. She found her, sit- 


150 RED BLOSSOMS 


ting with the letter in her hand and a puzzled ex- 
pression on her face. 

‘“What’s the matter, Dorothy? ” 

“I can’t accept it. Of course I can’t.” 

“ Accept what?—the puppy? ” 

‘* No, the car.” 

‘“‘T didn’t know anybody was asking you to ac- 
cept a car.” 

“Read that, then,” replied Dorothy, handing 
over the letter and studying Ruth’s face as she 
read it through. 

“Well,” said Ruth at last, “I still ask—who’s 
offering you a car? Major Sutherland has made 
an extremely useful contribution to mission work, 
not to you.” 

‘‘ But it seems so personal. I can’t help feeling 
it’s for my comfort, for he was awfully distressed 
when he was here to find that we’d no way of get- 
ting about but the bullock dumny.” 

‘Well, Pll give you a bit of comfort. Our car 
was a gift from a friend at home who is interested 
in us because we are missionaries, and we’ve never 
ceased to bless him, and we never had one qualm 
about accepting it. And I'll give you a still bigger 
bit of comfort. This isn’t the only car the Major 
has given to a missionary. I don’t think I’m be- 
traying confidence when I tell you that he gave 
one a few years ago to a doctor he met at Ooty— 
a magnificent woman who runs a large hospital and 
a huge district all by herself in a remote corner of 


THE NEW VENTURE 151 


Hyderabad State. There certainly was nothing 
personal in that.” 

“ But it seems such a luxury.” 

“You don’t call a tradesman’s motor-truck a 
luxury? It’s a good bit of business if it lets him 
deliver his goods quickly. And the main job in 
missionary life is to ‘deliver the goods.’ ‘That’s 
good American, isn’t it? ” 

Dorothy nodded and smiled in spite of herself. 

“Of course,” resumed Ruth resignedly, “ the 
idea is new; and old-fashioned fogies like you, for 
instance, who enjoy riding in a bullock dumny so 
much, think it a luxury and not a necessity.”’ 

“Don’t be too hard on me, Ruth, I honestly 
never thought of it at all till now. You see, in 
Sayton it was only the really well-to-do people who 
owned cars, and so I’ve always thought of them 
as luxuries. I’m staggered.” 

‘Well, cheer up, my dear, you don’t have to 
decide straight off, for you can’t possibly send the 
bone of contention back to Poona to-night. And 
you certainly won’t refuse the puppy. Come down 
and see him. He’s perfectly killing.” 

Dorothy fell a victim to the puppy at once. He 
was a two-months-old fox terrier, mostly white, 
with a black patch covering one ear and half of 
his face, like a circus clown. He was playing about 
on the verandah trying to chew Sakharam’s bare 
toes; but when he heard the ladies come down- 
stairs he stopped in the midst of his game, right 


152 RED BLOSSOMS 


fore-paw arrested in mid-air, and his ridiculous lit- 
tle head cocked in an attitude of expectation and 
interest. Then he caught sight of Dorothy’s shoe- 
strings dangling in a way calculated to distract any 
self-respecting puppy, so he rushed over and began 
to catch at them. 

‘You little rascal,” she cried, as she picked him 
up. He promptly climbed on her shoulder, licked 
her nose, and put a paw in her ear. Victory was 
complete. 


AVI 
RAIN! 


, N the morning of the fifteenth of June, 
Pe) Dorothy Maxwell was awakened out of a 
’ deep sleep by the banging of doors and 
window-shutters. That in itself was nothing un- 
usual, for a hot wind had raged round and through 
Anamabad every day and every night since she 
came down from the Hills. It had dried up her 
skin. It had made her eyes ache. It had seemed 
to suck the very marrow out of her bones. She 
felt wilted and withered like an unwatered plant. 

But now, as she lay listening to the rattling and 
roaring, she sniffed the air. The oppressive sultri- 
ness was gone, yes, gone! She sat up and sniffed 
again excitedly. Yes, there was a distinct sugges- 
tion of damp earth. The split bamboo curtains on 
her verandah were loose and flapping, so she 
slipped over to fasten them, and discovered that it 
was raining. ) 

Raining? Oh, glorious relief! The monsoon 
must have broken. For weeks the farmers had 
watched the sky. Would the rain keep off till it 
was too late to plant? Then there would be no 
first crops, and prices would run away up and up, 


and poor folk would begin to starve. And if the 
153 





154 RED BLOSSOMS 


latter rains failed too, then there would be no latter 
crops, and that meant famine, and in India, famine 
spells Misery and Death. But now, the monsoon 
was a fact. The blessed rain was actually here. 
The land would drink in the life-giving draughts. 
The farmers would plant their seed. Everybody 
would rejoice and would thank their various gods 
for their bounty. 

The patter became a deluge. The wind howled 
through the bungalow, bent the trees in the com- 
pound, lashed the rain far into Dorothy’s verandah, 
tossed her rugs in a heap, coquetted with the pa- 
pers on her open desk, and whirled some of them 
out into the storm. 

In the morning a droll sight met her. Half the 
compound was under water, and the children, 
laughing and shouting, were wading through it, 
holding their skirts above their knees, and their 
books and bundles on their heads. When she her- 
self, clad in raincoat and rubbers, had stepped 
carefully across to the other bungalow, she stood 
and laughed aloud. On the verandah was a weird 
collection—water-jugs, wash-basins, bath-tubs, 
brass pots—in fact, anything that would hold 
water. Each stood under a little stream that 
dripped from the leaky roof. 

Indoors it was the same tale. The horse-hair 
sofa was pulled into the middle of the room, which 
seemed to be the only dry spot, and on it was piled 
a selection of antimacassars, pictures, books, chairs, 


RAIN! 155 


and other odds and ends. Excited little kiddies 
were running to and fro, emptying the vessels as 
they began to overflow. Everybody was in the 
best of spirits, for the monsoon, the best friend of 
India’s millions, had condescended to bless them. 

As Dorothy emerged from the dining-room, she 
caught sight of a figure that made her stuff her 
handkerchief into her mouth and pray for self- 
control. There stood Miss Perkins, fortunately 
with her back to her, talking to some children. An 
elastic band encircled her just above the knees, and 
through this was pulled the voluminous alpaca 
skirt, thus making a wide, full frill. From under 
the edge peeped out a red flannel petticoat. The 
feet and legs were encased in an enormous pair of 
military gum boots. 

As Dorothy strove to absorb all the details yet 
keep her gravity, Miss Perkins wheeled round and 
saw her. 

‘Mornin’, Doctor,” she cried cheerily. ‘ Fine 
weather this. How d’ye like my outfit? ” and she 
planted her feet apart and gazed down at them in 
admiration. 

mOD RIES Ce. its iO. 2it’s very. efecrent(: 
gasped Dorothy. 

““T should say so! You ought to get a pair. 
You can walk all over the compound and keep per- 
fectly dry, even when it’s flooded. Would you like 
me to order a pair for you? I know an old rascal 
in Poona who keeps a second-hand clothes shop. I 


156 RED BLOSSOMS 


could ask him to look out a pair for you at the 
next auction sale.” 

“Oh, thank you very much. I'll think it over.” 

“Just as you say. Did your roof leak last 
night? ” 

Not. a) bit. 

‘“Good! You see what mine’s like. I was so 
busy looking after yours that I hadn’t time to do 
anything to this bungalow.” 

‘Too bad! But won’t you come over and share 
mine? There’s plenty of room.” 

‘1d like to see myself—when I’ve lived in this 
bungalow for twenty-five years! It’s been like 
this for ages, only getting worse all the time. But 
I never felt that I could spare the money from the 
Lord’s work just for my own comfort.” 

“Tm awfully sorry, Miss Perkins.” 

‘Don’t be sorry, child, but lend me your bath- 
tub, will you? There’s a new leak right over 
my bed.” 


The rainy season promised to be a very happy 
one for Dorothy Maxwell. In a few weeks the 
compound grew into a place of beauty and luxuri- 
ance. The bare brown earth softened and yielded 
waving green grass over a foot in height, and flow- 
ers in abundance. From her verandah she could 
see great clumps of brilliant zinnias and pink and 
white cosmos. Bushes of her favourite bougain- 
villa made purple patches among its glossy green 


RAIN! 157 


leaves. The gold mohr that had gladdened her in 
the barren landscape only gradually shed its vivid 
‘red blossoms; and as they went, a couple of tall, 
graceful cork trees began to put forth their fragile, 
waxy white, inverted flowers, and the exquisite, 
haunting fragrance was waited across to her—a re- 
storative from Nature’s own laboratory. 7 

Here Dorothy Maxwell could relax, happy in the 
peace and comfort of her own bungalow, happy in 
the increasing success of her dispensary work, 
happy in the comfort and efficiency of her means 
of transit. For, of course, as Ruth Alexander had 
prophesied, the car had proved a huge success. 
Miss Perkins had naturally been indignant at first 
at this innovation in consecrated mission work of 
a conveyance that savoured dangerously of the 
world, the flesh, and the devil. For weeks she had 
ignored its presence and had kept faithfully to the 
bullock dumny that she had used for twenty-five 
years. Fortunately, one of the bullocks fell sick. 
In her dire extremity she was persuaded to take 
her Indian preachers with her and Dorothy in the 
car. Her acrimonious remarks soon ceased when 
she found that she could ‘‘ do” four villages or 
more each day, instead of one or two; and her ac- 
counts of its extraordinary usefulness were so 
glowing, that Lady Brixton offered to make its up- 
keep one of the regular items of the budget. 

And so Dorothy’s cogitations would often lead 
to the friend whose wise gift had so revolutionized 


158 RED BLOSSOMS 


her daily programme. She had not seen him since 
the fairy ride in Mahableshwar; but his fortnightly 
letters continued to be an unfailing source of com- 
fort and inspiration. She was looking forward 
eagerly to the promised visit to Mrs. Talbot in 
September. Then she would surely see the Major 
and be able to thank him personally, and she had 
a conviction that her two friends would let her into 
the delightful secret which they thought they had 
been clever enough to hide from her penetrating 
eye. 

But long before the anticipated visit had ma- 
terialized, the war cloud had burst in Europe. To 
be sure, this far-away struggle of nations did not 
immediately affect the tenor of Indian life. In 
Anamabad, as in most Indian cities, life remained 
practically normal. Exaggerated and impossible 
rumours were rife in the bazaars, but nobody lays 
much stress on bazaar gossip, least of all those who 
spread it. He who had the power continued to rob 
him who was at his mercy. Millions of people 
continued to go to bed hungry every night. Half 
the babies born in the land continued to die within 
the year. Infants of a few months and children of 
a few years continued to be given in marriage. 
The great wheel of life whirled its victims round 
as before. 

Miss Perkins absolutely refused at first to take 
things seriously. “Silly fools, the Germans—as if 
we couldn’t smash them to smithereens!” That 


RAIN! 159 


classic utterance pretty well summed up her 
opinion during the early days of the war. She 
subscribed to no Indian newspaper. The British 
Weekly, sent from Scotland, represented her sole 
literary, political and spiritual food beyond her 
Bible. She therefore did not pretend to keep up 
to date with current events, and if Dorothy ven- 
tured to read a paragraph from her daily Tzmes, 
or started a discussion of war matters, Miss Per- 
kins would immediately turn the conversation into 
really important channels, such as the orphans’ 
latest stomach-ache, or the delinquencies of her 
latest convert. These loomed upon her devoted 
horizon as of far greater significance than the life- 
and-death grapple in Flanders. 

Dorothy was appalled by this apathy, this want 
of interest in a matter which seemed to her so ter- 
rible, so vital. It was inconceivable to her how 
any intelligent person, Indian or European, could 
go about his or her daily work as if the world were 
exactly the same now, in August, 1914, as it had 
been a month or two months previously. Like 
many another exile she greedily devoured the all- 
too-meagre telegrams in .the daily papers, and 
longed for details. If only she could have dis- 
cussed things with Miss Perkins, it would have 
eased her heart, but she felt bottled up, choked off 
from any expression of hopes and fears. 

It was therefore with peculiar relief that she set 
out for Poona in the end of September, with the 


160 RED BLOSSOMS 


hope of getting among people whose confidence in 
Britain was unshaken, yet who were intelligent 
enough to realize the actuality of a great crisis. 
When she stepped out of the train at Poona Sta- 
tion, the sight of many khaki-clad figures was in 
itself an instant reminder of things not seen in 
Anamabad, and during her stay, the movement of 
troops in the cantonment, the sound of rifle prac- 
tice from the butts, the réveillé and the military 
bands—these were all proof positive that every one 
was not so complacent as Miss Perkins. 

Dorothy particularly enjoyed meeting Mrs. Tal- 
bot’s three colleagues, strapping young women who 
had managed to keep brisk and optimistic even in 
strenuous mission work. She saw their school and 
their hostels and their dispensaries and their classes 
for “purdah”’ women. She realized the unspeak- 
able influence rising from the impact of these de- 
voted and vigorous lives on the lives of the secluded 
Indian women and girls around them; and when 
Miss Boylston, who specialized in work among the 
better classes, offered to take her to visit a wealthy 
Mohammedan woman, she accepted with alacrity. 


XVII 
A POOR RICH WOMAN 


HE guests had been invited for three 

o’clock, but in true Oriental fashion they 

were kept waiting in an ante-room for al- 

most an hour until Sultanbai, the lady of the house, 
was ready to receive them. 

When at last they were shown into the reception 
room, Dorothy’s gravity was almost upset, warned 
though she had been of what to expect. The 
master of the house had evidently a taste for 
Western civilization, and had gathered various 
items of Western furniture to adorn his Indian 
home. Arranged in a stiff row round the room, 
with their backs propped against the wall, stood a 
mirror-doored wardrobe, a marble-topped wash- 
hand-stand, a mahogany dressing-table, a bridge 
table, a blackwood sideboard, a roll-top desk, and 
a complete suite of sofa and six chairs upholstered 
in bright green plush with red roses sprawling over 
them. From the roof hung numerous glass globes 
and a couple of cut-glass chandeliers. The tiled 
floor space was left empty, and there, hunched up 
in bundles of cushions, reclined the mistress of 


it all. 
161 


162 RED BLOSSOMS 


Sultanbai was a middle-aged woman, enormously 
fat. She wore red cotton trousers and a three- 
quarter-length coat of rich blue satin. She was 
adorned with the inevitable necklaces, bangles, toe- 
rings, ear-rings, and nose-ring. She was smoking 
a cigarette; and when she smiled in greeting she 
showed lips and teeth and tongue all stained scarlet 
with the betel nut she had just been chewing. She 
waved her cigarette towards the chairs. Miss 
Boylston pulled forward three for the guests, and 
then began a conversation in Hindustani which she 
occasionally translated for Dorothy’s benefit. 

Sultanbai was very curious about the new-comer, 
and gazed at her from top to toe while she asked 
questions: “‘ How many children has she?” .. . 
Not) married?) Horrors)/20 2 iG ow oleae 

. . “Twenty-seven! Dear me, could her father 
not give her a suitable dowry? ” . . . ‘‘ She wanted 
to come to India?” . . . “She didn’t want to be 
married?” . . . “‘ How extraordinary!” 

Sultanbai tapped her own forehead and nodded 
questioningly towards Dorothy. ‘‘ Was she just a 
little bit off? ”? Miss Boylston assured her that the 
new-comer was perfectly right in her mind, and 
that many white women preferred not to marry, 
but to come to India and help their Indian sisters. 
Sultanbai shook her head in disbelief, and her soft 
brown eyes rested on Dorothy as if she were a 
stuffed museum specimen of some now extinct and 
almost unimaginable type. 


A POOR RICH WOMAN 163 


The questions went on. Over and over again 
must these ignorant women hear of our customs— 
our marriage age, the freedom white women have, 
the extraordinary fact that they can go for a walk 
with a man who is not a relative, the still less con- 
ceivable fact that if there are no children of a mar- 
riage the husband does not bring in another wife! 
The questioner paused to digest these staggering 
ideas, and Miss Boylston got a word in about the 
cause of all this freedom for women; and she told 
of that religion of brotherhood and justice and 
goodwill that has made white women what they are. 

As they rose to go, Miss Boylston asked if 
she might show her friends the view from the 
verandah? 

‘ Certainly,” and the hostess waved her cigar- 
ette in acquiescence. 

‘““Won’t you come, too? ” © 

“Oh, no, I can’t. You see, I haven’t got my 
veil here, and if I should step on to the verandah 
one of the gardeners might happen to look up and 
see me.” 

Dorothy gasped when this remark was trans- 
lated to her. Reaching the verandah she drew a 
long breath. In the distance loomed the purplish- 
brown Western Ghauts. Nearer, a famous Hindu 
temple reared itself in striking isolation on its 
jagged rocks. Beneath lay the great, seething city 
of Poona. As she gazed at the expanse of sky 
above and the crowded city below, her heart went 


) 


164 RED BLOSSOMS 


out in yearning pity for this poor rich woman who 
had money and jewels and as many sweetmeats 
and cigarettes as she cared for, but who was 
chained by the fetters of centuries-old custom and 
prejudice to be a virtual prisoner in her own gor- 
geous house. All she knew of the great wide world 
was what she could see through a crack in the 
straw curtains that closed in her carriage when she 
went for a drive, or what she could spy from a 
corner of this secluded verandah, when carefully 
veiled! 

The visitors were served with rich sweetmeats 
made of sugar, coconut, clarified butter and 
spices. Then they left, with many salaams, and 
with an urgent invitation from Sultanbai to come 
soon again and tell her once more about their 
strange customs. 

“‘Tsn’t it an extraordinary life? ” remarked Mrs. 
Talbot when they had made their way through a 
lane filled with gaping children and had climbed 
into their tonga. “‘ Her husband is one of the best 
educated and most polished Mohammedan gentle- 
men I have ever met. I met him first years ago 
when he visited my husband’s school.” 

‘“‘ But does he like having his wife so ignorant? ”’ 
asked Dorothy. 

‘“No, indeed, he deplores it. In fact, he has 
tried to teach her himself. But she is like an ab- 
normal child. When he shows her the alphabet 


A POOR RICH WOMAN 165 


she goes into fits of laughter, and he can’t get any 
further.” 

“But do you feel that you get very far with a 
visit like this? ” asked Dorothy. ‘“ Do you really 
feel much hope for the future? ” 

‘“T do,” replied Miss Boylston, “‘ but with the 
children. I can’t honestly feel that we can make 
much progress with women like Sultanbai, whose 
minds are irrevocably stunted. But it means a 
lot to get friendly with them, and especially to per- 
suade them to let their daughters and their daugh- 
ters-in-law be educated and get a better chance in 
life than they themselves had. For instance, Sul- 
tanbai lets her three children come to our ‘ pur- 
dah ’ class, and her eldest daughter, who takes after 
her father, is actually studying at the Women’s 
Medical College at Ludhiana.” 

“Really? That’s marvellous.” 

“ Tt is indeed,” agreed Mrs. Talbot, “‘ especially 
when I remember how things were even fifteen 
years ago. Indian women are coming into their 
own gradually, and the few who have ‘ arrived’ are 
working for the others. They can do it far better 
than we can, only there aren’t enough of them yet 
to go round. But there’s a day coming when we 
missionaries will be superfluous, obsolete. I wish 
I could live to see that day, but I’m afraid it won’t 
be in our generation.” 


XVIII 
A REVELATION AND A RESOLUTION 


~, URING the remainder of her visit, Doro- 
F) thy pondered much over all that she had 
seen and heard, and she longed passion- 
ately for some one in Anamabad who would talk 
over these great big vital questions of the hour and 
day. But on Sunday evening, as the time of de- 
parture drew near, all thoughts and wishes were 
merged into a sinking feeling of acute depression. 
When Dorothy faced the matter frankly in her 
own mind she had to confess that it was due to the 
quite extraordinary fact that she had not seen her 
Desirable Big Brother. She had looked forward 
to meeting him for almost four months. He him- 
self had frequently mentioned it in his letters. She 
had let him know the exact date of her visit. She 
had secretly hoped he would meet her at the sta- 
tion. Yet, she had now been in Poona for three 
days and he had neither put in an appearance nor 
written. Still more strange, Mrs. Talbot had ac- 
tually avoided so much as a reference to him. 
What could it all mean? It surely showed plainly 
that he felt no personal friendliness towards her- 


self, no brotherliness, as she had fondly hoped. 
166 





REVELATION AND RESOLUTION 167 


He evidently regarded her simply as a hard- 
worked missionary with whom he sympathized, a 
lame dog to be chivalrously helped over Indian 
stiles. 

Did Mrs. Talbot’s unusual reticence about their 
mutual friend mean that she had definitely refused 
his advances? If so, Dorothy’s castles in the air 
would come tumbling down to earth. What about 
that new home where, she had fondly anticipated, 
she would be welcomed by a Big Brother and a Big 
Sister? On the other hand, did it mean that every- 
thing had been definitely fixed up between these 
two dear people, but that in view of the uncer- 
tainties of wartime, they had decided to delay any 
announcement? 

And then Dorothy fell to thinking what it would 
mean to her personally if the Major should go to 
the Front. And if anything should happen to him, 
and Mrs. Talbot be left desolate again? Oh, the 
very idea was gruesome. Dorothy was beginning 
to realize how closely human lives and relation- 
ships are intertwined, how much one must pay for 
the privilege even of friendship. And if this night- 
mare of apprehension were her penalty for mere 
friendship, then how doubly, trebly, incalculably 
poignant must be the penalty of love! She gave 
the rein to her Celtic imagination and worked her- 
self into a very fury of gloomy prognostication and 
despair. 

In this attitude of mind she was naturally rather 


168 RED BLOSSOMS 


quiet during dinner, and when she went to her 
room to pack, Mrs. Talbot followed her in. 

‘““My dear Dorothy,” she said, “ I’ve enjoyed 
your visit so much.” 

‘ It’s been perfectly lovely for me, I assure you.” 

“But I’m inconsolably disappointed about one 
thing,” resumed Mrs. Talbot. ‘“ Ever since we 
knew exactly when you were coming, Major Suther- 
land and I had planned a little dinner-party at his 
Club for last night.” 

“Oh, really? ” said Dorothy, suddenly standing 
bolt upright. 

“Indeed we had. But on Friday afternoon, just 
before you were due to arrive—he had been plan- 
ning to meet you at the station, of course—he was 
called by wire to Belgaum. He had no idea how 
long he might be kept, but of course he couldn’t 
possibly get back for the Saturday dinner. I pur- 
posely didn’t say anything at all to you, for I had 
a sneaking hope that he might turn up to-day. 
But, you see, he hasn’t. And I can’t understand 
how he hasn’t wired us some message.” 

“Do you think he may be called to the Front? ” 
asked Dorothy, fixing her friend with a clear and 
searching gaze. 

“Possibly. He sent in his application immedi- 
ately. But I think it more likely that he’ll be kept 
in India for the present. Nobody knows what may 
happen here. But he himself wants to get to 
France.” : 


REVELATION AND RESOLUTION 169 


“That would be dreadful, wouldn’t it? ” 

‘Why, yes, Dorothy, it certainly would. Major 
Sutherland is a good and brave man, but so are 
thousands of poor fellows who may have to give 
up their lives.” 

Dorothy stared in consternation at this callous- 
ness.. “I’m afraid I’m awfully rude to ask you, 
but really and truly, wouldn’t it break your heart, 
wouldn’t it k7ll you, if anything happened to him? ” 

“Dorothy, my dear,” cried Mrs. Talbot in 
amazement, ‘‘ what on earth do you mean? Would 
it break my heart, would it Rill me, if anything 
happened to Major Sutherland? What are you 
talking about? ” 5) 

Oi enthough tesa wer lathought..qe a stam 
mered Dorothy in confusion. 

‘You thought what? Out with it at once,” and 
Mrs. Talbot shook the younger woman’s shoulders 
and made her look up. 

“Oh, I thought it was all so plain on the boat, 
that he cared for you, and I’ve wanted and wanted 
you to care for him. I’ve prayed about it every 
single night since we went through the Canal and 
I thought I had discovered his secret. Is it that 
‘you don’t believe in second marriages? ” 

For answer Mrs. Talbot flung herself into a 
rocking-chair and went into peal after peal of 
laughter. She tried to stop herself but seemed to 
have lost all self-control. Finally, Miss Boylston 
looked in to see what was the matter. 


170 RED BLOSSOMS 


“ Nothing,’ sobbed Mrs. Talbot. ‘‘ Dr. Max- 
well was telling me a funny story, that’s all.” 

“ She doesn’t seem to think it funny,” remarked 
Miss Boylston, as she glanced at Dorothy’s flushed 
and distressed countenance and then discreetly 
withdrew. 

‘“No, I don’t,” said Dorothy indignantly. ‘“ If 
I made a mistake, I beg your pardon; but I don’t 
see anything to laugh at. I’m cruelly disap- 
pointed. I wanted him so badly as a big brother.” 

‘““As a big brother?” repeated Mrs. Talbot, 
going off into another fit of convulsions. ‘“‘ My 
dear, you certainly did make a big mistake, and 
you needn’t beg my pardon. I’m remorseful for 
being so rude, but really, it strikes me as being the 
funniest thing I’ve heard for ages. I do believe 
thoroughly in second marriages, though not for 
myself. But Major Sutherland and I have never 
at any time had the slightest thought of each other 
except as good friends. So finish your packing, my 
dear, and put your mind at rest. He can be your 
big brother quite as well without my intrusion as 
a third party,” and she dried her eyes vigorously 
and tried to compose herself. 

Dorothy finished her packing almost in silence. 
She was not only disappointed, but hurt. If she 
had made a mistake, then Mrs. Talbot might have 
let it go at that, and not have laughed so much. 
What a muddle everything was, to be sure! The 
solid ground seemed to have given way beneath 


REVELATION AND RESOLUTION § 171 


her feet, and she was mentally staggering about for 
balance. 

Dorothy’s train did not start till two in the 
morning, but out of thoughtfulness for her hostess 
she had decided to go down to the station at ten 
o’clock and wait there. It was a beautiful night, 
such as frequently comes near the end of the 
Rains, and the moist, fragrant air cooled her 
troubled brain. 

Just as the carriage neared the station, Mrs. 
Talbot took her hand and said simply and ear- 
nestly, “‘ Dorothy, my dear, I’ve something to say 
to you. I want to explain my apparent rudeness, 
and I want you to promise not to interrupt me or 
ask any questions. Will you?” 

‘All right,” replied Dorothy in a nonchalant 
voice. ‘I don’t feel that anything matters very 
much now.” 

“Indeed it does. Now, I haven’t the slightest 
wish to intrude. Please forgive me if I seem to do 
so. But I must tell you that you are entirely off 
the track. You’re perfectly right in thinking that 
Major Sutherland fell in love with some one on the 
boat, but that some one was not myself. It was 
some one so innocent, and unselfish and unsophisti- 
cated that she never thinks about herself or her 
own attractions. Now, you know the few ladies 
with whom our mutual friend fraternized on the 
boat. Eliminate me and you'll find the solution. 
Here we are at the station. I see you’re simply 


172 RED BLOSSOMS 


panting to contradict me, so I’d better not come in 
with you. The porter will put your baggage in the 
waiting-room. Good-bye, my dear. Cheer up. 
Life is not all tragedy.” 

“Tt feels like it to-night,” said Dorothy with a 
rather wry smile, as she kissed her friend good- 
bye. Mrs. Talbot watched her disappear into the 
station followed by her luggage bobbing on the 
head of a porter. Then she gave the order to the 
coachman to drive home, and she sat back in her 
corner with a broad smile of satisfaction. 


The waiting-room was swarming with recumbent 
figures of women and children. Floor and table 
alike were strewn with innumerable packages and 
bundles of every size and sort. Some were gaping 
open, some had their contents pulled hali out. The 
windows were tightly shut, and the air was stuffy 
with the smell of oranges and stale bread. So 
Dorothy beat a hasty retreat, closed the door softly 
behind the unconscious sleepers, and directed the 
porter to put her baggage on the platform beside 
a vacant seat. 

Poona Station at night is no particularly pleas- 
ant place either as regards quiet or company. As 
it is an important junction, trains frequently whirl 
through, and engines shunt to and fro with hideous 
screechings. Glaring electric arcs light up the 
tracks, the platform, and the idle people strolling 
backwards and forwards. Through the grated 


REVELATION AND RESOLUTION 173 


doors of the third-class waiting-room can be seen 
an uneven carpet of inert bundles of coloured cloth 
—AIndians in blissful repose on the hard stone floor, 
waiting for their slow passenger trains. But Doro- 
thy was oblivious of her surroundings. Drawing a 
blanket from her hold-all, she wrapped it round 
her and settled down on the hard wooden bench, 
not to sleep but to think. 

Her first impulse had been indignation over 
Mrs. Talbot’s revelation, or supposed revelation. 
Even she was not so unsophisticated as to misun- 
derstand the meaning of the remarks. Eliminate 
her friend, and there was no one left but herself 
as the object of Major Sutherland’s affections. But 
it was preposterous to think of an experienced, 
middle-aged man of the world falling in love with 
a simpleton like herself. However, be that as it 
may, the main problem to be faced now was her 
attitude to him in the future. She had always 
been perfectly frank with herself that she liked and 
admired him immensely, that she would love to 
have him play the role of Big Brother, and that his 
friendship had been indescribably precious and 
comforting through the difficult months of acclima- 
tization and adjustment. 3 

Yet she could not but blame herself. Taking it 
for granted that he and Mrs. Talbot had actually 
been interested in each other, as she had fully be- 
lieved and hoped, she had let herself be friendlier 
than she ought with a man in no way related to 


174 RED BLOSSOMS 


her. She ought not to have let a stranger write 
to her every fortnight. She ought to have con- 
centrated on work like Miss Perkins, and let even 
Friendship severely alone. Besides, platonic 
friendship was such a new experience for her 
that she had no doubt muddled things. 

Her pride was sorely hurt. She who had al- 
ways preened herself on her aloofness, on her set- 
apartness, on her immunity from the trials and 
troubles of ordinary life with its loves and friend- 
ships, now found herself involved in an incipient 
love-affair, with herself as one of the main per- 
sonages. This, too, after she had reached the goal 
of her ambition and had come to India for a life 
of service to her Indian sisters! It was absurd, 
it was ridiculous! Again, had she not unwittingly 
been guilty of a great wrong towards Major Suth- 
erland? Had he understood her blindness, her 
‘brotherly ” ideas? Had not he, versed in the 
ways of the world, interpreted her companionship 
as showing that she was open to his advances? 

Dorothy’s brain reeled with the thoughts and 
fears that whirled through it. Humiliation, per- 
plexity, apprehension, remorse—these chased each 
other relentlessly. Why, oh, why could she not 
have kept to her young ideals of selfless service, 
and shut up her heart to the call of human entan- 
glements as she had done all her days? Why must 
this great, unsought experience of thrilling to the 
voice of a friend coincide with her very first year 


REVELATION AND RESOLUTION 175 


of actual service on the field? Happy, happy Miss 
Perkins, whose consecrated virgin heart had never 
been torn asunder like this! And happy, happy, 
miserable Sultanbai, who had never faced a prob- 
lem in all her circumscribed existence, who was 
content if she could eat well, sleep well, please her 
lord and master, and bear him an abundant prog- 
eny! There was something to say for Indian cus- 
toms after all! 

Before her train pulled in, Dorothy had disposed 
of the main problem. There would be no misun- 
derstanding in the future. Now that her eyes were 
opened, she would watch her steps carefully. 
There must be no more correspondence—that was 
perfectly clear. Would she write and explain? 
No, she would simply ignore her friend’s next let- 
ter, and he would understand and let the matter 
drop. 

Wise, discerning, far-sighted Dorothy! 


XTX 
THE RICH MERCHANT AND HIS HEIR 


WEALTHY merchant and banker of 

A Anamabad* was in desperation for an 

heir. His first wife having proved bar- 

ren, he had naturally taken a second wife; but she 

had been a miserable failure, having produced only 
one dead-born infant, and a female at that! 

He heard tales through his servants of the magic 
exercised by the white woman doctor in similar 
cases, and especially of the advent in the family 
of Jevan, her bullock-cart driver, of a fine son after 
four disappointments. 

Now, the merchant was a man of high caste and 
irreproachable orthodoxy; but when his wife once 
more gave promise of a progeny, he determined, 
in his dire need, to invite the assistance of the 
foreigner. Dr. Maxwell visited the house, but she 
refused to take any responsibility unless the pa- 
tient should be removed from her rich but insani- 
tary surroundings. | 

‘“ Impossible!” cried the husband. “She is al- 
ready haunted by the ghost of her sister-in-law, 
who threatens death if she so much as crosses the 


threshold.” 
176 


THE RICH MERCHANT AND HIS HEIR 177 


“Tt is certain death if she remains here. The 
case requires an immediate operation.” 

It was a deadlock. The poor man was torn be- 
tween fear of the ghost on the one hand, and 
anxiety for a safe delivery on the other. The 
white doctor remained firm. 

Next day, the merchant called at the bungalow 
in the hope that she might have relented. She had 
not; but she showed the distracted man a small 
room adjoining the dispensary where she was 
willing to treat the case. He shook his head in 
despair, but proceeded to an astrologer, who, in 
consideration of a handsome fee, consulted the 
gods. They graciously consented to the removal 
of the woman on condition that it was accom- 
plished on the next Thursday at four in the morn- 
ing, that being a particularly auspicious hour when 
the obstreperous ghost might haply be kept at bay. 
The excited husband rushed back to the dispensary 
with this happy news. Then he brought a priest, 
who muttered incantations and wrote _hiero- 
glyphics in the air; and under his direction an 
army of servants purified this room of a Christian 
missionary and made it fit for the reception of an 
orthodox, high-caste Indian woman. 

In the early hours of Thursday morning, the 
whole compound was awakened by the arrival of a 
noisy procession, escorted by a band, and lighted 
up by two enormous incandescent lamps carried 
on the heads of servants before and behind. The 


178 RED BLOSSOMS 


patient was borne in a palanquin and accompanied 
by a dozen female relatives and attendants, who, 
to their indignation, were not allowed to camp out 
overnight in her room. 

All went well. On the Friday morning the 
anxious father was presented with a couple of fine 
boys. Twin boys! The gift of the beneficent 
gods, the acme of domestic felicity, a safeguard for 
the soul of the father in the next world!  Inci- 
dentally the doctor was overwhelmed with thanks; 
and in the afternoon the proud papa reappeared 
with a pair of heavy gold bangles for her, in token 
of his gratitude. 

Dorothy Maxwell was particularly happy over 
this success. Her work hitherto had been almost 
confined to women of the lower castes and of no 
caste. This was the first time that a high-caste 
woman had been allowed to stay overnight in her 
bungalow; and she felt sure that it would encour- 
age sensible men to throw aside their prejudices 
and risk the terrors of caste pollution in order to 
save their wives and children. She was right. 
That very day she had several callers, anxious to 
book her assistance in advance for imminent family 
additions. 

How pleased Major Sutherland would be to 
know that at last the barriers of caste were break- 
ing down in Anamabad! He had often encouraged 
her in her depressed moments, by assuring her 
that it was only a matter of time, and he had been 


THE RICH MERCHANT AND HIS HEIR 179 


hoping for a beginning like this. She must write 
at once and tell him all about it. 

Then Dorothy Maxwell pulled herself up with 
a start. She had actually forgotten that there 
were to be no more letters. How horrible, just 
when she had such special news to tell him! How 
complex human relationships were! She might 
write with impunity to Mrs. Talbot or Mrs. Alex- 
ander or any of her new Mahableshwar acquaint- 
ances. But just because Major Sutherland hap- 
pened to be a man, she must all of a sudden lose 
a valuable guide and confidant. How absurd, how 
unreasonable it all was! And Dorothy, in the 
reaction that follows a mood of unusual exaltation, 
found life flat and unfair. 

Mrs. Talbot sent on a telegram of regret which 
had evidently been delayed in transit from Bel- 
gaum and which had not reached Poona until after 
Dorothy had left. Saturday brought a long letter 
from Major Sutherland, explaining his sudden call 
to Belgaum for consultation on war contingencies, 
and expressed keen disappointment at missing her 
visit. With set lips Dorothy read the letter 
through once only, then locked it away. ‘‘ That’s 
probably the last Vl ever get from him,” she 
sighed. 

Of course Dorothy was wrong. 

The following Saturday brought another letter. 
Her friend did not ask why she had not written. 
He merely presumed that she was specially busy, 


ay 


180 RED BLOSSOMS 


but hoped she would find time to send him even a 
line. It hurt quite badly to ignore this letter, but 
Dorothy locked it away with the others and tried 
to concentrate on WORK. 

On the following Wednesday this wire arrived: 


Are you well reply prepaid Sutherland. 


As the messenger was waiting, Dorothy had to 
gather her scattered wits and write an answer: 


Perfectly well thank you Maxwell. 


She read it over. It sounded crude and unfeel- 
ing. He evidently was anxious, then. He was not 
going to take the hint and drop writing, as she had 
presumed he would do. Well, she could do nothing 
now but let things slide. 

When Saturday came and went without any 
letter from the Major, Dorothy began to be afraid 
that her friend “ad taken the hint. Of course, she 
ought to have been glad that he was so sensible, 
and that things were going to adjust themselves so 
simply. It was exactly what she had planned 
when she thrashed the matter out in Poona Station. 
But she was miserable. 

On Sunday, everything went wrong. In the 
morning she lay thinking about her affairs too 
long, and left far too short time to dress for church. 
She hastily opened the bundle of clothes which the 


THE RICH MERCHANT AND HIS HEIR 181 


washerman had brought late the night before. She 
pulled out dress after dress. Not one was fit to 
wear. There was either a rent or a button pulled 
off. She left just five minutes to get to church. 
A tire punctured on the way and she and half a 
dozen presumably delicate little orphans had to 
walk the rest of the distance. They of course 
arrived late, and the whole congregation watched 
them trying to slip unobtrusively into their places, 
followed by Miss Perkins’s all-seeing, disapprov- 
ing black eye above her spectacles. The pastor 
shouted louder than ever, and made her head ache. 
The organ squeaked abominably, and the choir 
sang out of tune. She arrived home just in time 
to catch her cook filling her drinking-water jug 
from a pail of germ-laden well water. What a 
martyrdom missionary life was! 

Dorothy decided that the Indian climate must 
be getting on her nerves. What else could account 
for this sudden ruffling of a usually tranquil tem- 
perament? She determined to sleep all afternoon. 
But no sleep would come. The air was stifling. A 
couple of mosquitoes took a fancy for her and 
buzzed round her, tantalizingly out of reach. In 
the branches of the gold mohr tree that touched 
her verandah, a crow evinced a desire to develop 
his croaking talent. In desperation she rose and 
pitched at him the stone that served as a paper- 
weight. He flew off cawing, and returned to his 
perch the moment she lay down again. She tossed 


182 RED BLOSSOMS 


from side to side; she tried to read; she sucked 
an acid drop; she sprinkled her aching forehead 
with eau-de-Cologne; and she was as wide awake 
as ever. 

About three o’clock Dorothy Maxwell was at 
last falling into a restless doze when a motor-horn 
shrieked. She sprang up and peeped over her 
verandah in time to see a car enter the gate. She 
drew back hastily as she caught sight of a man’s 
topi inside, and a man’s hand feeling for the lever 
of the door. It must be Major Sutherland. ‘This 
was a new turn of affairs. Why, oh, why couldn’t 
he let things drop? 

She heard him calling ‘‘ Boy! Boy!” and she 
smiled to herself, for she knew that all the servants 
were taking their usual afternoon siesta in their 
own quarters. He evidently sent his chauffeur to 
hunt somebody up, for after an interval she heard 
a great scolding and altercation, as some unwilling 
sleepy-head was forcibly roused out of a blissful 
dream. By and by up came her cook, heavy-eyed 
and cross, and wearing a hurt and martyred ex- 
pression. He presented Major Sutherland’s card. 

Dorothy had not known what she was going to 
do; but now, as she fingered the card, she decided 
that she could not see her friend now. Her mind 
was too much perturbed. She must regain her old 
self-control and air of aloofness before she could 
risk a personal interview. So she tore a page from 
her scribbling pad and wrote: 


THE RICH MERCHANT AND HIS HEIR 183 


DEAR MAjoR SUTHERLAND: 
Thank you very much for coming. I would 
rather not see you to-day, but I promise to write. 
Sincerely, 
DorotHy J. MAXWELL. 


Dorothy waited wide-eyed and breathless while 
the cook shuffled downstairs. Would her friend 
jump into the car and drive right off? Must she 
watch him disappear down the road and out of 
sight—yes, and out of her life? Indeed, yes. She 
heard him give an order. The engine was cranked 
up, and the door of the car was banged with a 
flourish of finality. 

She rushed on to the verandah. The car was 
emerging from the porch. She gazed down on the 
relentless, non-committal auto hood. It was in- 
supportable. ‘‘ Major Sutherland, Major Suther- 
land, oh, please, please,” she cried in agony. 

“Tm here all right. I’m waiting,’ came the 
reply; and the visitor, pencil and notebook in 
hand, stepped out from under the porch, looked 
up, and waved his topi. 

Dorothy staggered back. He was waiting! He 
wasn’t driving off! He must have sent his car to 
wait for him outside. Oh, what a fool she had 
made of herself! She covered her hot cheeks in 
shame and vexation. Then she pulled herself to- 
gether hastily as the cook’s grumpy voice once 


184 RED BLOSSOMS 


more called at her door, “‘ Missy-sahib, letter.” 
Dorothy unfolded it and read: 


DEAR Dr. MAXWELL: 

Pardon my insistence, but I must see you. If 
you are ill, I shall come up and prescribe for you. 
If not, will you please come down at your earliest 
convenience? Iam due back in Poona this even- 
ing, but I can, and I shall, wait on your verandah 
till | see you. 

Piatpe 


That settled the matter. For convention’s sake, 
if for no other reason, a mere man must not sit all 
day on a missy-sahib’s verandah. So Dorothy had 
perforce to send down the verbal message: ‘‘ Very 
well. Coming.” As she dressed and bathed her 
flushed face, she racked her brains as to what tack 
to take, but she could think of nothing that would 
be equally friendly, firm and final. 


XX 
“ PROSERPINE ” AND HER BIG BROTHER 


7 ITH Spunky joyfully leaping beside 
her, Dorothy Maxwell descended and 
caught sight of her visitor standing on 
the farther end of the verandah. His masterful 
back was towards her, his feet were apart, he was 
tugging at his moustache. She concluded that he 
would probably take matters into his own hands. 
He did. 

When he heard her, he wheeled round, came 
quickly forward, fixed her with a very stern ex- 
pression that she had never seen before, took her 
hand, and led her to a chair—all without a word. 

‘“‘ Now,” said he, standing over her, “‘ what does 
all this mean? ” 

‘“‘ All what? ” asked Dorothy lamely. 

“You don’t need to hedge. Why haven’t you 
answered my letters? ” 

“I decided not to write any more.” 

“T see. But we had made a bargain. Is it fair 
for one person to break her side of a bargain with- 
out even consulting the other party? ” 

‘* Perhaps not.” 

“Of course not. I suppose you were offended 


because I wasn’t in Poona when you were there.” 
185 





186 RED BLOSSOMS 


“Offended? How could I be, when you were 
on duty? ” 

‘“ Well, I simply couldn’t think of anything else. 
Is there something else, D-D-Miss Maxwell? ” 

Dorothy continued stroking Spunky’s alert ears 
as he snuggled on her lap. Then she looked up. 
The commanding light had died out of the kind 
eyes. They were puzzled and pleading like those 
of a faithful dog who is trying hard to understand 
what his master wants him to do. 

She braced herself. 

‘“T think I’d better tell you all about it,” she 
said suddenly. 

““ Please do.” 

“It would be easier if you’d sit down.” 

‘“‘ Right-o,” replied the man cheerfully, drawing 
forward a wicker chair. 

Dorothy paused for a moment. “I hope you 
won't be offended,” she began. ‘“ You see, I’m 
awfully stupid. Ive made a silly mistake, and 
when I found it out I got a dreadful shock.” 

“Tell me what it was, poor child.” 

‘Well, somehow or other, I got an idea on the 
boat that you had fallen in love with Mrs. Talbot. 
I’m not versed in sentimental matters. I’ve al- 
ways avoided them. But it seemed perfectly clear 
to me. I myself took a crush on her the first time 
I saw her, she is so sweet and calm and beautiful. 
I probably imagined that everybody must feel the 
way i did. But, you know, you liked to be to- 


* PROSERPINE ” AND BIG BROTHER 187 


gether, you had always lots to say to each 
Othicia ah 

‘Pardon me, but was that why you were so 
elusive those last days, and fussed round Mrs. 
Sandeman far more than necessary? ” 

“Of course it was. I didn’t want to be in the 
way, and Mrs. Sandeman made a capital excuse.” 

“You in the way? You droll child!” and the 
man patted her hand as it lay on the arm of her 
chair. Spunky promptly snuffed it and gave it a 
peremptory lick. 

“Spunky objects to poaching on his preserves, 
I see,” laughed the Major. ‘“‘ However, please go 
on. When did you find you’d made a mistake? ” 

“In Poona, three weeks ago to-day.” 

“And how did you find out? ” 

‘Well, I’'d been hoping and hoping that I’d hear 
soon of your engagement. I had hoped you would 
tell me that day at Mahableshwar.” 

‘“‘ But if your surmise had been correct, wouldn’t 
I have written to Mrs. Talbot instead of to you, 
about taking you to the garden-party? ” 

‘“T did think that funny, but I came to the con- 
clusion that you two were playing a very clever 
game and throwing dust in my eyes, but that I was 
cute enough to find out for myself.” | 

“ But would I have strolled about the grounds 
for an hour with you, if I had been in love with 
Mrs. Talbot? ” 

“IT was distressed about that, but I thought it 


188 RED BLOSSOMS 


all due to Mrs. Sandeman monopolizing Mrs. Tal- 
bot and then stupidly getting lost in the crowd.” 

‘““Now I really must rescue these two good 
ladies from the charge of stupidity. They were 
extremely good sports, and took care to make 
themselves scarce. You droll child!” repeated the 
man, lying back in his chair and laughing, while 
Dorothy looked aghast. ‘“‘ However, do tell me 
what disillusioned you? ” 

‘““We were discussing the possibility of your 
going to the Front, and Mrs. Talbot was so casual 
about it that I just couldn’t contain myself, and 
blurted it out.” 

‘“‘ And how did my supposed fiancée take it? ” 

‘* Oh, she just laughed and laughed and laughed.” 

‘““ Indeed, I don’t wonder,” said her companion 
with one of his good-humoured broad grins. “‘ But 
I’m still all in the dark. Why should you stop 
writing to me because I’m not engaged, and not 
going to be engaged to your friend? ” 

Dorothy hesitated, confused; but there was no 
evading her tormentor’s catechism. ‘“‘ Well,” she 
continued timidly, “‘ it was like this. I had thought 
of you as a big brother. I wanted one dreadfully. 
I never had one, you see. Mrs. Talbot likes me, 
so I thought that when she married you, she would 
be like a sister and you like a brother.” 

‘Poor, brotherless little girl,’ said the kind 
voice. ‘‘ But why can’t we be your sister and 


* PROSERPINE” AND BIG BROTHER 189 


brother even if we don’t happen to marry each 
other? ” 

‘I suppose you could,” replied Dorothy slowly, 
“but it’s all so complicated somehow.” 

“So you decided to cut out my friendship. It 
didn’t mean anything to you except in so far as it 
included Mrs. Talbot. You haven’t enjoyed it for 
its own sake.” 

“Indeed I have,” cried Dorothy, distressed. “I 
hate to give it up.” 

“Then why do so? ” 

Dorothy was silent. The Major waited a few 
moments, then asked permission to smoke, and lay 
back in his chair, puffing at his pipe for a good 
five minutes. Dorothy, fondling the soft little 
bundle that lay on her lap, studied her companion’s 
face. Then she looked away. She had no right 
to intrude. 

The Major suddenly sat up, laid his pipe aside, 
and said, ‘“‘ Life is too short, too precious, for mis- 
understandings and the needless loss of friendship. 
You have been frank with me. May I be equally 
frank with you? ” 

Dorothy nodded, and he continued, “‘ Well, I had 
the temerity to fall in love with you on the boat.” 

She shivered a little. It was true, then. “ But,” 
she said reproachfully, ‘‘ you knew I was a mis- 
stonary.” 

“T did. But unfortunately, or fortunately per- 
haps, little accidents like that don’t count in love 


190 RED BLOSSOMS 


affairs. Besides, you know, missionaries have been 
known to marry.” 

Silence followed the Major’s words. Presently 
Sutherland looked up quizzically, head on one 
side, and a mischievous twinkle in his blue eyes. 
‘“Haven’t they?’ Dorothy smiled in spite of 
herself. 

“T know,” he continued, “that you feel set 
apart for a special service, that you hadn’t a 
thought of love and marriage. In fact, I believe 
it was your aloof little air that first attracted me. 
It seemed hopeless to try and make you care. I 
even wondered if it was right to disturb your tran- 
quillity with talk of human affections. I’ve 
thrashed the whole thing out a dozen times. I’ve 
fought against it. I’ve wrestled with it. I’ve tried 
to be content with just your friendship. But I’m 
not happy, I’m not content, Dorothy.” 

““T’m very sorry. Then you wish you had never 
met me? ”’ 

‘““No, I don’t wish that. But I wish, I do wish, 
that you were just a little more ordinary, a little 
more human, so that I could feel justified in bom- 
barding you and making you care.” 

Dorothy smiled and shook her head. “TI really 
don’t know anything about love and caring,” she 
said. “ I’ve always idolized my dead parents, but 
I’ve never loved any human being passionately. 
Perhaps it isn’t in me to do so.” 

“T think it is,” said the man quietly. ‘‘ The 


* PROSERPINE” AND BIG BROTHER 191 


depths are there all right, but they haven’t been 
stirred. The angel of love hasn’t come yet and 
moved over the face of the waters.” 

‘“‘T don’t think I want him to come and do that. 
Life is so much simpler if it isn’t entangled with 
human affections. I’ve found friendship quite bad 
enough.” 

‘“‘ But is simplicity the highest ideal in lifer I 
don’t think so. Look at travelling, for instance. 
When I’m worried with my kit bags and bed bun- 
dles, and all the other paraphernalia that we white 
folks think it necessary to haul round with us, I’m 
inclined to envy the other fellow—the poor Indian 
who cheerfully sets out for a week’s sojourn with 
a handful of meal and other necessities wrapped in 
a cloth and carried on his head. That’s the simple 
life for you. But when it comes right down to a 
choice, I’d rather have the worry of my belong- 
ings and the comfort and self-respect they bring. 
Now, honestly, wouldn’t you? ” 

‘“‘ T suppose I would.” 

‘‘ Well, it’s exactly the same idea in the spiritual 
realm. Life is much simpler, and incidentally ever 
so much poorer, without encumbrances. If you 
want real comfort and satisfaction, you’ve got to 
take encumbrances; they’re worth the bother in- 
volved.” 

“Tm afraid I’ve never thought much about 
these things,” said Dorothy. ‘‘ You see, I haven’t 


192 RED BLOSSOMS 


been blessed with encumbrances. I’ve been lonely 
all my life.” 

‘And yowre afraid to launch out? That’s it, 
isn’t it? Poor little girl!” 

There was a long pause. 

“‘ Well,” resumed the Major, ‘“‘ as I couldn’t cure 
myself of caring for you, I determined to hang on 
for dear life to your friendship, in the hope that 
you might relent and marry me when your five 
years’ engagement at Anamabad was over.” 

‘“‘ Wait five years? ” 

“Certainly. It would really be just a little over 
four years now. And I’d planned how you could 
go on being a missionary even when you were mar- 
ried to a mere man of the world like myself. You 
see, I can retire any time now, and I thought that 
if the idea appealed to you, we might settle down 
somewhere in India, build a small hospital, and run 
it together. That would be quite a bit of mission 
work, wouldn’t it? ” 

‘““ Indeed it would!” said Dorothy with glowing 
eyes. Build a hospital, and she and Major Suther- 
land run it? How perfectly wonderful! 

‘It would be a small contribution to India’s up- 
lift,” he continued, “ that I would be glad to make. 
You see, it would be team-work, you and I sharing 
it all. However, that was my private little castle 
in the air. I hadn’t meant to mention it to you 
yet, but your sudden tactics precipitated it. Now 
we'll get to business. Let’s see where we stand. 


“ PROSERPINE ” AND BIG BROTHER 193 


I’m in love with you, but you’re not with me, and 
you haven’t the slightest intention of being so. 
Isn’t that about right? ” 

“It sounds terribly crude that way.” 

“Never mind how it sounds. I’m after facts. 
Now, wouldn’t you let me act the Big Brother 
role, if I promise not to overstep the privilege? ”’ 

Dorothy was silent. 

‘How would this plan work, then? Suppose I 
don’t write for a month. That’ll give you plenty 
of time to think it all over. If you decide to drop 
your big brother, tell me so frankly. If not, we 
can go on as before, writing once a fortnight. 
What d’ye say to that plan? ” 

“T think it’s excellent. This is the eighth of 
October. I’ll decide on the eighth of November.” 

“And you'll let me know your decision? I 
promise not to make any move.” 

‘Very well,” agreed Dorothy. ‘Let me see, 
that will be two letters from you that Ill miss, 
besides the one that ought to have come yester- 
day,’ she added naively. 

Her friend stooped down and adjusted his puttee. 
“Will you miss them? ” he queried at length. 

‘““Of course I shall. I re-read them on Sunday 
afternoons. They are a tremendous help.” 

“Well, you don’t need to miss them a day 
beyond the eighth of November. And oh, by the 
way, here’s a minor point. Suppose you decide to 
let me play the brotherly role, what are you going: 


194 RED BLOSSOMS 


to call me? You couldn’t manage ‘ Patrick’ or 
‘Pat,’ could you? ” 

“Tm afraid not,” smiled Dorothy. ‘ But I’d 
like to call you just ‘ Brother,’ for I always think 
of you as that. May IP” 

“Please do. Ill consider it a privilege.”’ 

‘And what will you call me? Ive never been 
called anything but ‘ Dorothy.’ ” 

‘“ T was very fond of a little sister who died when 
she was eighteen. A young artist painted her as 
Proserpine, plucking flowers in the meadow, and 
that stuck to her as a pet name. I have the pic- 
ture in my den in Poona. It refreshes me to look 
at it. There is such a spirit of buoyancy and 
wonder at the glory of the big, inviting, untried 
world. You have always reminded me of that pic- 
ture—lI thought of it at once when I first saw you 
on the boat, and took you for a little schoolgirl just 
stepping out into life.” 

“Tm afraid there isn’t much buoyancy about 
me nowadays,” remarked Dorothy, a little de- 
spondently. 

“There won’t be, if I keep you from your rest 
like this,” said the Major, rising to go. ‘‘ I must 
apologize for coming in the afternoon, but it was 
the only time I could possibly get away.” 

“But you’re not going now? You'll stay and 
have tea with me? ” 

“Thanks very much, but I must get back to 
Poona immediately.” 


* PROSERPINE” AND BIG BROTHER 195 


“TI thought you could wait as long as I 
wanted? ” Dorothy reminded him. 

“True, O Queen! But fortunately, or rather, 
thanks to your graciousness, it hasn’t been neces- 
sary. Ill just walk to the gate. Good-bye, then, 
Proserpine—oh, beg pardon, I mustn’t call you 
that for a month yet.” 

pehinthen.y 

“Tf then—that’s so,” repeated the long-suffer- 
ing man gravely. ‘‘ You couldn’t call me ‘Brother’ 
just once, could you? ” 

“Oh yes. Good-bye, Brother.”’ 

A handshake, a wave of the topi from the gate, 
the receding buzz of the engine, and he was off. 
But Dorothy went upstairs with a lighter heart 
than she had known since her visit to Poona. Her 
immediate course was clear, viz., hard work and no 
thinking for a month. 


But long before the appointed date came round, 
Dorothy knew her decision. She was not going to 
deny herself a great privilege. She was willing to 
accept the enemy’s terms! 

On the morning of the eighth of November she 
herself went to the post office and wired: 


Please ask Brother to write to Proserpine. 
Maxwell. 


Next morning, not a letter but a packet arrived. 


196 RED BLOSSOMS 


Dorothy rushed to her room and tore it open. Out 
fell three closed letters and a note which said: 


DEAR PROSERPINE: 

Thank you for your wire. Enclosed are the 
three letters which your big brother wrote as usual 
but did not post. Will look for a letter soon, and 
will write as arranged. 

| ghey 


Three letters! And there were three from Pro- 
serpine to him lying locked in a bureau drawer. 
Dorothy hugged herself in amusement. 

And somebody smiled broadly when Proserpine’s 
packet arrived. 


XX 
A PAGE FROM INDIAN HISTORY 


WAY back in the fourteenth century, 
A when the Mohammedans were pushing 
south, conquering the land of India, 
monopolizing the power, setting up kingdoms and 
dynasties of their own, the harassed Hindus made 
one last stand. They rallied round a leader who, 
welding the diverse elements of the people into one 
united force against the common enemy, founded a 
Hindu kingdom. 

This king chose as the site of his capital a 
stretch of land to the south of the Tungabhadra 
River which, rising in the Western Ghauts, flows 
north-east and joins the Krishna halfway in its 
course across to the Bay of Bengal. The land is 
wild and rugged on either bank. Gigantic boul- 
ders, the missiles of mythological heroes, lie strewn 
in imposing disarray on the plain, or are piled up 
to form miniature mountains. 

From this excellent building material which lay 
at hand in inexhaustible quantities, a city came 
into existence which vied in extent and splendour 
with ancient Babylon. In the pride of his heart 
and the glory of his achievement, the king named 
it “ Vijaya-nagar ”—City of Victory; and his king- 

197 


198 RED BLOSSOMS 


dom, which at one time embraced the whole of 
South India and Ceylon, was known by the same 
name. 

An old chronicle tells of the magnificence of the 
city. Here rose palaces and harems, King’s Baths 
and Queen’s Baths, elevated platforms and watch- 
towers, guard-rooms and elephant stables. Most 
numerous of all loomed the temples—temples or- 
nate with carvings of god and man and beast, tem- 
ples decorated with priceless porphyry pillars, 
temples to shelter repulsive idols and the practices 
their worship demanded. An odd mosque or two 
indicated the presence in the city of hired Moham- 
medan bowmen. A strong and immensely thick 
wall enclosed the city. Its double gateways, one 
on the outside, one on the inside, with a twisted 
passage between them, provided an effective bar- 
rier to the enemy. A less imposing wall guarded 
the women’s quarters, where the queen and the 
other twelve thousand inhabitants of the royal 
harem lived in becoming seclusion. Huge slabs 
of granite hollowed out and raised on uprights 
formed an aqueduct that stalked majestically over 
the plain, carrying pure, sparkling water from the 
hills. Long avenues of granite pillars, roughly 
hewn but sturdy, led to temples, to shrines, to 
pleasaunces, to a tank of limpid water with a fairy 
island covered with a fairy temple. Here and 
there the solid ground would be broken by the en- 
trance to a subterranean temple, or to a labyrinth 


A PAGE FROM INDIAN HISTORY 199 


excavated in the depths of the earth to form a cool 
retreat for the leisured classes in the heat of the 
hottest days. 

Rows of open shops displayed their wonderful 
wares, for here gathered merchants and merchan- 
dise of every description, from north and south 
and east, but especially from the west, by way of 
the Portuguese seaboard colony of Goa. By land 
and sea, by row-boat and sail-boat, by horse pack 
and mule pack, by elephant back and human back, 
by camel caravan and bullock-cart, over hot plains 
and snowy mountains came the product of silk- 
worm and cotton plant, of handloom and embroti- 
dery needle, samples of the goldsmiths’ and the 
silversmiths’ equisite handiwork, spices and oils 
and unguents, gems from the mountains, pearls of 
the ocean, myrrh from the forest and gold from the 
mine—all that could contribute to the comfort and 
luxury of those who were connoisseurs in the pride 
of life and the lust of the eye and all that pertains 
thereto. 

Dominating all rose the Throne Elevation—a 
series of granite platforms piled one on top of the 
other after the fashion of the early pyramids, and 
diminishing in area until they left but a modest 
square on top. Here, on special occasions, was 
placed the King’s throne that he might, from a 
dignified distance, view the crowds of loyal sub- 
jects and dazzle them with the splendour of his 
royal appointments. 


200 RED BLOSSOMS 


Greatest of all celebrations was the yearly nine 
days’ feast, when the king received the fealty oaths 
of his feudatory princes. The whole city, and 
visitors from the uttermost parts of the kingdom 
and from foreign lands too, gave themselves up to 
merriment and shows and extravagances. ‘There 
were mimic fights, there were horse races, there 
was a daily parade of harem inmates. Slowly and 
majestically the procession filed past, the women 
striking attitudes of modesty or allurement, of ar- 
rogance or humility, of dignity or self-abasement, 
as befitted their rank and temperament, and the 
chief wives so laden with priceless jewels that 
lowly handmaidens must support the arms raised 
towards the Throne in eloquent subjection. 

And now? The City of Victory lies empty and 
desolate and mute. Jagged remnants of the great 
stone aqueduct stand out grim and useless across 
the plain. Of the royal palaces only the founda- 
tions remain. The mighty Throne Elevation is 
broken and uneven, and the dancing girls, graven 
in continuous series around it, smile and posture 
in their petrified voluptuousness. In a bare field 
the great grinning stone lion-god keeps watch from 
under his cobra hood, and gazes greedily with bulg- 
ing eyeballs for the crowds of devotees that come 
no more. The wall of the harem is broken down, 
but there is no one to intrude. The baths lie dry 
and sun-baked. The watch-towers rear their futile 
height and dominate a land where no enemy 


A PAGE FROM INDIAN HISTORY 201 


comes. The temple courts are vacant. The shrines 
are Silent. 

No bold black eye peeps from the dancing girls’ 
quarters, no tinkle of bangle and anklet distracts 
the wayfarer. No elephant stamps the ground with 
his mighty paw nor rattles his chain in his domed 
stall. No silks or fine muslins, no perfume or oil 
tempt the passer-by. Hyenas howl in the homes 
of the haughty, owls and bats roost in the holy 
places of the gods, and the city of glory and gaiety, 
of pomp and power, lies lonely and desolate. 

For the Mohammedan enemies, goaded by insult 
and arrogance, united to crush the Hindu kingdom. 
They marched with overpowering forces. They 
defeated the Hindu armies and their skilled mer- 
cenaries. They chased off the stricken defenders. 
With axe and lever they devoted five months to the 
destruction of the City of Victory. They suc- 
ceeded. Since the Battle of Talikota in 1565, 
Vijaya-nagar has lain in abandonment and ruin, a 
tangible witness to the frailty of human glory and 
the efficacy of human hatred. 


For months Dr. Dorothy Maxwell had been 
reading up whatever scanty literature she could 
find that dealt with Vijaya-nagar, and storing her 
mind and her notebook with facts to be verified by 
personal examination of the ruins. She was a very 
different person now from the greenhorn who had 
gone to Anamabad two years previously. She had 


202 RED BLOSSOMS 


settled down into the queer ways of India in in- 
evitable resignation. She had acquired enough 
Marathi to get along comfortably though not ac- 
curately. She had passed another hot season with 
Mrs. Talbot at Geranium Lodge. She had at- 
tended another garden-party at Government House 
—this time unescorted by a cavalier. She had seen 
with satisfaction the gradual growth in extent and 
importance of her own particular sphere of work. 
Now, at the close of another Rains, she was look- 
ing forward eagerly to a short vacation with the 
Alexander family, who had invited her to join them 
for a few days at Vijaya-nagar. 

But it was not merely the prospect of an ex- 
ploratory excursion with the Alexanders that 
loomed so attractively in the future. An addi- 
tional zest was due to the fact that Major Suther- 
land was to be the guide of the party. Dorothy 
had not seen him for over a year, since they had 
come to terms. He had been transferred to Bel- 
gaum soon afterwards. Yet it seemed extraordi- 
nary that he had not managed even a hasty visit 
to Anamabad, especially as he had been back in 
Poona several times. If it were impossible for him 
to take time to come, would it not have been per- 
fectly simple to ask her to meet him in Poona, as 
a real brother most assuredly would have done? 
Dorothy had been puzzled and not a little cha- 
grined. 

Now, however, she was fast losing all sense of 


A PAGE FROM INDIAN HISTORY 203 


disappointment in the pleasant anticipation of an 
early meeting, when one of the fortnightly letters 
gave her a shock. It concluded thus: 


‘“‘ And now, Proserpine, I have something to say 
that may disappoint you. I am afraid that I can- 
not come to Vijaya-nagar. Of course, the Alexan- 
ders and you will not put off the trip on that ac- 
count. I shall gladly make all the necessary 
arrangements for you beforehand, and lend you 
my boy who has been there twice with me. He 
knows all the ropes, especially the important rope 
of language, so there should be no difficulty. 

‘“‘T shall be frank, and say that it is not because 
of military duty. Unless any unforeseen emer- 
gency arises, I can get leave all right. The real 
reason is this, Proserpine, that I cannot come to 
Vijaya-nagar as your brother. I have tried it 
out for over a year. I have been loyal to my 
pledge not to overstep my ‘brotherly’ privileges. 
But I can’t go on this way any longer. I am 
neither happy nor content. 

‘“‘ And now that I have given you fair warning, 
I am going to proceed, not as a big brother to his 
sister Proserpine, but as myself to the girl I love. 
If you don’t wish to hear me, stop reading.” 


(Dorothy, naturally, read on.) 


“Well, Dorothy, I’m not asking you now to 


204 RED BLOSSOMS 


marry me. I’m not even asking you to try to care. 
I’m simply asking you to give me a fair chance to 
try and make you care for me. It is true that I 
am still willing to wait for you, but I must have 
something definite to look forward to. In these 
days of war, somehow, the great big things stand 
out—life and love and death. One cannot trifle 
with them. They are FACTS and must be acknowl- 
edged. And the one big FAcT on my horizon, fill- 
ing it till it blots out everything else, is you. It 
is not my friendliness nor my brotherliness towards 
a hypothetical sister, it is my love for Dorothy 
Maxwell. 

‘“And now, Dorothy, choose. Big Brother is 
dead, stone dead. Nothing can bring him to life 
again. And Proserpine is in truth my little dead 
sister. But you and I remain. If you cannot give 
me permission to woo you, then I cannot, I must 
not see you again. 

“In giving that permission, Dorothy, you would 
not bind yourself in any way. It is all on my side. 
You have been the passive one, and you remain 
so. But having pledged myself not to be aggres- 
sive, [ now implore you to remove the restriction. 

“Tf you cannot give me this permission, please 
burn this letter and wire the one word ‘ Impossi- 
ble.’ Otherwise, I shall begin writing you love- 
letters. 

PATRICK SUTHERLAND.” 


A PAGE FROM INDIAN HISTORY 205 


Dorothy sat on her cool verandah far into the 
still, starlit, fragrant night. She had been playing 
a fascinating game. So far she had had things all 
her own way. Now, her partner was beginning to 
take things into his hands. Was it possible, at this 
stage, to throw down the pieces, close up the board, 
and pretend that the game had never been begun? 

Next day, Dorothy sent no wire and burned no 
letter. 


XAIT 
IN THE OLD CITY OF VICTORY 


NINE-MILE journey in a pony jitka is 
A a privilege to be avoided when possible. 
A jitka is a two-wheeled, springless, seat- 
less cart, with a low, rounded straw covering. The 
traveller usually begins his journey by reclining 
full length on the flat boards, with his feet hanging 
over the end. He feels shaken to pieces, so he sits 
up. His head is then banged against the low roof 
or against the wooden sides. After various experi- 
ments he finally assumes a half-sitting, half-reclin- 
ing position which strains every muscle in his body 
and leaves him aching for days. Yet, one day in 
the beginning of January, 1916, six people climbed 
into the waiting jitkas at Hospet Station, and 
cheerfully endured the jolting for the pleasure that 
lay before them. 

The little caretaker at the Travellers’ Bunga- 
low not far from Vijaya-nagar, was all excitement 
and flutter when no less than three jitkas turned in 
at the gate and came to an abrupt halt before his 
door. To be sure, he had been expecting them. 
Had not the Major-sahib’s good-for-nothing boy 
been there for two days, getting in supplies, curs- 
ing the bad water, putting up camp cots, and gen- 

206 


IN THE OLD CITY OF VICTORY 207 


erally fussing round and disturbing the even tenor 
of things? But it was an unusual event to have 
SO many visitors; and the little fellow fairly trem- 
bled with mixed apprehension and delight when 
two sahibs, two mudum-sahibs, and two “ babas ” 
jumped down. 

“Oh, do look at that,” cried Dorothy Maxwell, 
as she stretched her aching limbs, took her topi 
from her disheveled head, and pointed to the row 
of mutilated idols, and fragments of carved water- 
spouts and capitals and other archeological relics 
standing on the verandah propped against the wall. 
“ Isn’t it like a museum? ” 

“Wait till you get inside,” said the Major. 

Dorothy and the children naturally made a rush 
for the door, and then stood still in astonishment, 
for there, in the dining-room, stood a carved stone 
pillar at each corner of the table. 

“ Golly!” ejaculated Billy, “‘ fancy sitting eat- 
ing and having those cross-legged johnnies looking 
down on you all the time! It looks like a temple.” 

“That’s exactly what it is, or rather, was,” 
agreed the Major. ‘“ And those cross-legged john- 
nies, aS you graphically call them, are little Bud- 
dhas in contemplation. You’d better watch out, 
Bill, and behave yourself.” 

‘“‘ But [ don’t understand,” said Dorothy. ‘“ Isn’t 
it sacrilege to use a temple as a bungalow? ” 

‘This one had been standing empty for several 
centuries. Besides, a temple ceases to be holy 


208 RED BLOSSOMS 


when the idol is removed—so I believe. Isn’t it 
ingenious the way they’ve turned it into a bunga- 
low? They enclosed the pillared court to make 
this dining-room. ‘Then the ante-room of the shrine 
is a dressing-room, and the shrine itself . . .” 

“It’s a bathroom,” shouted Billy, who had been 
exploring. 

“Yes, a bathroom. Ye gods! What shades of 
former inhabitants must haunt the place! How 
they must squirm*to see the white man’s galvan- 
ized iron bath-tub in the sanctuary! I hope yeu 
won’t see or hear ghosts to-night, Bill.” 

The four days at Vijaya-nagar were the most 
wonderful Dorothy Maxwell had ever spent. She 
had always been interested in things rather than 
in people, and here was a whole museum of the 
most wonderful stone relics, not arranged in glass 
cases, but left in their natural position as they 
stood when the citizens fled from the face of the 
enemy three and a half centuries ago. And with 
the interest which had lately been developing 
within her for people as well as for things, she tried 
to fill the ruins with their former inhabitants. 

She sat in a balcony in the Queen’s Bath and 
looked into the great stone tank. But to her it was 
not empty. It was full of lithe figures that dived 
and swam and tumbled about, threw water at each 
other, or let it fall from their slender fingers to 
catch the sunlight. The air was full of laughter 
and chatter and alluring tinkles and seductive 


IN THE OLD CITY OF VICTORY 209 


scents. Over there in the opposite balcony sat the 
Queen, being rubbed down and oiled with precious 
fragrances from far lands and near. She was 
watching and enjoying the pranks of the bathers. 

Then at the Queen’s bidding the gorgeous pro- 
cession set out. The principal ladies were borne 
in gaudy palanquins by men-servants who had 
waited their mistress’s pleasure at a discreet dis- 
tance from the forbidden precincts. The lesser 
harem lights, the concubines and handmaidens that 
helped to make up the goodly sum of twelve thou- 
sand females in the household of the King of 
Vijaya-nagar, walked or ran alongside, a brilliant 
promenade of bright colours and glittering jewels. 
Dorothy watched it wind its way across the plain, 
till it disappeared through the wall into the 
women’s quarters. 

Then she turned her eyes towards the ornate 
temple beyond the road. She peopled the pillared 
court with a crowd of worshippers. She heard the 
beating of the drum and the blowing of the conch 
shell to summon the devout. She saw them pass 
into the ante-room, pause at the threshold of the 
shrine, ring the bell hanging aloft to waken their 
god from his slumbers, bow down to the stone 
image within, and lay before it their offerings of 
rice and coconuts, sweetmeats and flowers. It was 
all so real, so familiar. The same thing was going 
on all over India at that very moment. 

Dorothy was profoundly moved. She felt so 


210 RED BLOSSOMS 


near the throbbing problems—the mystery of life 
and death, the passing of gorgeousness, the silenc- 
ing of vainglorious trumpetings, the futility of life 
and luxury against death and disaster, the rise and 
fall of nations, the explanation of this great whirli- 
gig of Chance that seems so unfair, that flings one 
man up and another man down, that delights in 
erratic gyrations, and that yet, when viewed in the 
perspective of history, pursues an onward course. 

This whirligig to which we humans cling, and 
cling passionately, what does it all mean? All is 
vanity: that was surely not the ultimate explana- 
tion. The old pessimist was wrong. Some things 
were vanity—and the philosopher looked over the 
desolate plain. But some things were not vain. 
Had not she, like her Covenanting forefathers, 
learned the abiding love of God? That surely 
stood firm in the midst of death and decay. Was 
there anything in human relations that endured too? 

Dorothy’s whole imaginative, sensitive nature 
‘was vibrating to some unseen force, like the strings 
of a harp in the wind. Her being was tense with 
an anticipation that she could not analyse. As in 
the physical, so in the spiritual realm, a crisis is 
often heralded by symptoms that defy diagnosis. 
But Dorothy knew that it had to do with human 
relationships, with friendship and perhaps with 
love. She knew that things were shaping to an 
unavoidable issue. 

Major Sutherland’s constant companionship and 


IN THE OLD CITY OF VICTORY 211 


guidance and thoughtfulness were inextricably 
bound up with the emotions she was experiencing 
now, and which she had begun to experience ever 
since she decided to send no wire and burn no 
letter. As she glanced at his bearing she marvelled. 
Was it possible that the tumultuous heart revealed 
in his letters really beat under that calm, conven- 
tional exterior? It must be true, as Browning says, 
that every man has two sides to his nature, one to 
face the world with, and one to show a woman when 
he loves her. Dorothy had seen both sides. 

In awe she had read the revelation of a strong 
man’s emotions. It had bewildered her. She could 
not analyse her own feelings, except that she was 
deeply stirred. Was it, after all, the angel of love 
moving over the waters of her soul? If so, why 
did she not resent it as she had done before? She 
longed, she prayed, she agonized for light. Yet she 
felt like a stranger groping in a strange land, fear- 
ful of taking a false step. She wanted to be true 
to herself. How could she, when she did not un- 
derstand that self? 

And then there was the great, practical stum- 
bling-block, her work. Was it right for one who 
had dedicated herself to God’s service to allow 
herself to be moved? Was human love compatible 
with the destiny she had mapped out for herself? 
Would it be a turning back from the plough, a 
backsliding, a proving unfaithful to the hopes and 
aspirations of a lifetime? In short, was it the voice 


212 RED BLOSSOMS 


of God or a snare of the devil? Should she yield 
gladly to it or fight against it? Could it be right 
to yield when she wanted to do so? Must not 
duty always be the harder path? 

All these surmises and _ perplexities flitted 
through Dorothy’s brain again as they had flitted 
for the past month. But now they were intensified 
by the outward environment of sadness and desola- 
tion, and by that sharper realization of the great 
issues of life and*death that the war brought in 
its train, a stirring to assess in true proportions 
and values what one had previously taken for 
granted, an endeavour to explain the seemingly in- 
explicable, to justify the seemingly unjustifiable. 

Dorothy knew that the crisis must come on the 
last evening. She and the Alexanders were to 
travel next day to the junction at Guntakal, whence 
she would proceed north to Anamabad and the 
Alexanders south-east to Madras. The Major was 
leaving at midnight for a train west to Belgaum. 
In a few hours they would all be scattered. 

There was an atmosphere of depression during 
dinner. Perhaps it was only the approaching de- 
parture that weighed heavily on the heretofore 
jubilant spirits. They all knew that it might well 
be the last time they would ever meet again. It 
was not only possible but highly probable that the 
Major might be called up any moment; and a call 
to Mesopotamia was a call to a very specialized 
danger. The Alexanders all loved him. Of course 


IN THE OLD CITY OF VICTORY 213 


they felt apprehensive. Little Betty clung to him 
and caressed him as though she could never let him 
out of her sight. Billy looked up at his hero with 
worshipful and envious admiration. Dorothy fan- 
cied that she detected an unspoken question in 
Ruth’s eyes, and a trace of impatience in Mr. 
Alexander’s manner towards herself. Was she re- 
sponsible, then? Was it up to her? 

Immediately after dinner, Major Sutherland 
turned to Dorothy quite simply and frankly and 
asked her whether she would care to have a stroll 
and see the ruins by moonlight. 

‘““?’m coming too,” cried Billy. 

‘“And me too,” piped Betty. 

“Indeed you’re not,” interposed the mother 
firmly. “An early start to-morrow, you know. 
We'll pack now, and if you hurry up we'll take a 
little walk later.” 

“But Dorothy hasn’t done her packing,” ob- 
jected Betty. 

“True, my dear. But Dorothy hasn’t got a 
tyrannical mother,” and the wise woman bundled 
off the superfluous babas, and watched with a very 
understanding, sympathetic smile, the two prin- 
cipal figures of the drama as they left the bunga- 
low. She put up a little prayer, as she invariably 
did in eventful moments, wiped away a suspicion 
of moisture from her eyes, and then set briskly 
about her business. 


XXIII 
LIFE AND LOVE 


HE two human beings who had come to 
one of the big Affairs of Life took the 
road leading north to the city wall. They 
walked a little way in silence; then the man drew 
his companion’s hand through his arm and patted 
it. It trembled a little uncertainly, but remained. 
They passed under the huge boulder that forms the 
lintel of the gate. A pocket flash-light showed the 
road immediately in front of them. The landscape 
was dimly, mysteriously shrouded. 
Then, away beyond the stretch of the ruined city 
a speck of light foretold the coming glory. It rose 
—that great, round, all-seeing, non-committal orb. 
It silhouetted a stumpy tree. It threw into relief 
the corner of a temple. A night bird flew across 
its face. It rose with extraordinary rapidity, ting- 
ing the dusky edifices, lighting them up, hiding the 
scars and cracks in the walls, blurring the lines of 
the defaced carvings, diffusing a soft radiance to 
belie the emptiness of the courts. Away in the far 
distance, village dogs began to bay at the moon. 
Nearer, a hyena howled. Nearer still, an owl 
hooted. In the City of Victory no human sound 


broke the magic stillness. 
214 


LIFE AND LOVE 215 


Dorothy was thrilled. Involuntarily she pressed 
her companion’s arm. He gently turned her face 
towards him. There were tears in her eyes. 
““ What is it, dear? ” he asked. 

“Oh, it’s just so beautiful that it hurts,” she 
whispered. 

‘““ What a lot that old fellow up there has seen! 
Think of his rising night after night and looking 
down on this old world, the same old world yet dif- 
ferent from age to age.” 

“When I was a child,” said Dorothy, “I used 
to wish I were the man in the moon, so that I could 
look down and see how everybody was getting on.” 

‘““And don’t you feel that way now? Or have 
you put away childish things? ” 

‘““T should hate to look down from a distance and 
not be able to help. I can bear almost any horrid 
sight if I’m doing something to help out—binding 
up a wound, for instance . . .” and Dorothy 
stopped short, sorry that he had thoughtlessly 
touched on a delicate subject in war-time. 

The Major sensed her embarrassment. He 
patted her hand reassuringly and they walked on. 

“The old moon is having a lot of queer sights 
to look down upon nowadays,” he remarked, “ but 
probably not any worse than happened in this very 
city in the good old days of a few centuries back— 
except, of course, in number and intensity.” 

‘““D-d-do you think you might be called up? ” 

“ Why yes, any minute. I’ve been wanting from 


216 RED BLOSSOMS 


the very first to get to the Front. But I’m not 
among the young men nowadays, so I’ve been 
passed over. But with things developing as seri- 
ously as they are now in Mespot, and especially 
with this set-back at Ctesiphon, it can’t be long. 
Dorothy, my dear, would it matter to you if I 
went? ” 

Dorothy could not answer. Her companion led 
her to a prostrate fragment of the old aqueduct, 
and they sat down facing the moon. It was com- 
forting to have him hold her wrap round her shoul- 
ders and take her hand in his. 

‘“‘ Dorothy, dear, have the letters made any dif- 
ference? Have they let you know how I feel? ” 

“Oh yes, but I’m all perplexed.” 

“What about, dear? ” 

‘“T’m so stupid, so inexperienced, that I don’t 
seem to be able to analyse my feelings. And it 
hurts my pride. I’ve always been so self-sufficient, 
so sure of myself. And now I feel like a foolish 
young schoolgirl with her first love-affair. In fact, 
you know,” she added naively, “this zs my first 
love-affair.”’ 

The man smiled broadly. ‘‘ You can’t make me 
believe that nobody ever wanted to make love to 
you.” 

‘Tm sure nobody ever did. I never noticed it, 
anyway. I never had any use for boys.” 

‘“No? But haven’t you any use for this par- 
ticular old boy? Don’t you care just a little? ” 


LIFE AND LOVE Q17 


“Tm afraid I do. That’s the dreadful part 
Orgs’ 

‘““ Why, dear, that’s the whole part of it! Noth- 
ing else matters. If that big, central fact is sure, 
everything else is secondary.” 

“But my mission work,” wailed Dorothy, “ how 
can I make it compatible with caring for some- 
body? ” 

“I thought you admired Ruth Alexander. Like 
you, she was a missionary. Now, do you think she 
was wrong to marry? When you see that happy 
home, a heaven on earth for the people in it and 
for lots of lonely outsiders as well, or when you 
talk with manly little Billy, or when you feel 
Betty’s soft little arms round your neck—can you 
honestly say that Ruth made a false step when 
she listened to the voice of human love? Would 
it have been better for the world if she had said, 
“Oh, I’m a missionary! Ive nothing to do with 
love and marriage!” 

‘No, indeed,” agreed Dorothy fervently. 

“Well, the one big fact is, that you’re afraid 
you care for me. The obvious thing, then, is to 
marry me? ” 

‘When? Three years from now, when I’ve fin- 
ished my engagement? ” 

‘“T hope not, dear. I'll tell you what I would 
like. I’ve thought it all out. I wish you’d marry 
me at once and let us have a little time together 
before I go. Then there will be lots of time for 


218 RED BLOSSOMS 


you to tend those sick folk—the poor and the sick 
we have always with us. And when I come back, 
dear, we'll begin and fix up that plan about our 
joint hospital. I’m no earthly good at preaching 
or speaking about religion, but it’s there deep down 
all right, and I’ll be glad to show the practical side 
Gi ait? 

A long pause ensued. 

“ You don’t think you care enough to marry me 
now? ”’ | 

Dorothy shook her head a little uncertainly. 

‘““T see. Well, I suppose I must wait for you, 
wait till you feel yourself free. But three years 
is a long time, dear. Life is too short to do all the 
things one wants to do, to gather up precious 
memories, to cultivate a garden of love, to settle 
one’s relation to God and his fellow-men. Espe- 
cially in these days when human life is so cheap, 
when men are facing death as though it were the 
obvious thing to do, one clutches at the big veri- 
ties—God, and Christ, and the human heart. 
Dearest, don’t confuse those verities with the bar- 
riers and limitations that men have raised with 
their own hands. Don’t imagine that the yearning 
heart is wrong, Dorothy. God made it just as 
truly as He made the sun and moon and stars. 
Don’t you remember, ‘ God saw everything that 
He had made, and behold, it was very good.’ And 
that everything included the man and the woman 
created in His own image.” 


LIFE AND LOVE 219 


‘““T never thought of it that way,” said Dorothy 
slowly. 

“Look at those ruins, dear. Men built stately 
palaces and temples for themselves and their gods. 
They tried to cheat time and oblivion. They tried 
to wrest immortality from stone and lime. Look 
at their handiwork now—broken and fallen; glory 
gone; the very place thereof shall know it no more. 
But the things of the spirit, Courage and Truth 
and Faith and Friendship and Love—love human 
and divine—these are the things that cannot die. 
In them lies true immortality. Can’t we clutch at 
them, dear, even for a little while? ” 

Dorothy trembled. The mystic surroundings, 
the kindly voice—deep and vibrating and appeal- 
ing—the awful thought that she might never see 
this lover again, the still more awful thought that 
she cared, cared passionately, whether he went out 
of her life, the certainty that she must choose and 
choose quickly—these things unnerved her. 

“Dorothy, dearest, don’t worry now about when 
you can marry me. Just tell me, dear, do you 
care? ” 

Her heart cried out that she did, but she could 
not trust herself to speak. Her lover divined the 
conflict that surged within her, and to give her 
time to still it, he said, ‘‘ Let me repeat a poem I 
love. I don’t know the author. It was written 
about other ruins, but it applies equally well here: 


220 RED BLOSSOMS 


“T asked of Time for whom those temples rose, 
That prostrate by his hand in silence lie. 
Fis lips disdained the mystery to disclose, 
And, borne on swifter wing, he hurried by. 
“The broken columns whose?’ I asked of Fame. 
(Her kindly breath gives life to works sublime.) 
With downcast looks of mingled grief and shame 
She heaved the uncertain sigh and followed Time. 
Wrapt in amazement o'er the mouldering pile, 
I saw Oblivion pass with giant stride; 
And while his visage wore Pride’s scornful smile, 
Haply thou know’st, then tell me whose, I cried, 
“Whose the vast domes that e’en in ruin shine?’ 
“I reck not whose, he said. ‘They now are mine.’’ 


3 


The calm, measured voice ceased. The woman 
gazed across the desolate plain. Oh, there came 
Oblivion with his giant stride! He was heading 
straight for them. He was bearing down upon 
them. He was smiling in disdain. Must he claim 
them now, at once? Oh, could they not have just 
a little time more to live and to love? 

She shuddered. A hand closed reassuringly over 
hers. She looked up. She met her lover’s eyes. 
Something seemed to snap in her heart. She bowed 
her head in mute surrender. 

The City of Victory, even in its ruins, had con- 
quered after all. 


AXIV 
MARCHING ORDERS 


;~HE situation in Mesopotamia was not at 
first regarded as a serious factor in the 
war. All eyes were turned towards 

France and Flanders, and India immediately sent 
lavish supplies of men, money and material to help 
in that conflict overseas that somehow seemed very 
far off. Her own inadequate equipment was left 
precariously reduced; but except for a few skir- 
mishes on the frontier—nothing abnormal even in 
normal times—it looked as if the war would not 
come near her own borders. 

However, a Poona brigade was sent to the Per- 
sian Gulf in readiness for the almost inevitable 
break with Turkey; and by the end of 1914, Bas- 
rah, evacuated by the Turks, had been occupied 
by the British, who then pushed up the river as 
far as Kurna. 

Continued success made an excellent impression 
in India. Interest was keen in the romantic type 
of warfare which the exigencies of the Mesopo- 
tamia situation developed. Daily newspapers pub- 
lished graphic descriptions of soldiers learning to 


be sailors, and of their practice with the tantaliz- 
221 


222 RED BLOSSOMS 


ing, round, flat-bottomed punts that behave so er- 
ratically. Finally, the land army, mounted on 
miscellaneous craft and swishing through the reeds 
of a water-logged area, cleared the enemy from the 
hillocks and sandbanks round Kurna. The pene- 
tration advanced, and within a year of the out- 
break of hostilities, the British had occupied Kut- 
el-Amara. 

So far, good. Things were going along splen- 
didly. India smiled complacently and _ settled 
down to her share in the task. She organized hos- 
pitals and convalescent homes and war relief so- 
cieties. Ruling princes vied with each other in 
protestations of loyalty and in tangible assistance 
of troops, material and even personal service. 
Women’s busy fingers made comforts for the men. 
Recruits were enlisted and sent to training camps. 
Indian and European society was drawn together 
as it had never been before, in a common interest 
in a common cause. 

But India sat up with a start when news came 
in the end of 1915 of the defeat at Ctesiphon. Un- 
official information began to leak out concerning 
the lamentable provision for the incapacitated, and 
the consequent loss of life. Unwarranted opti- 
mism gave place to reasoned judgment. It was 
realized that an expedition on the scale of a frontier 
force, though ample for the preliminary tactics, 
was wholly inadequate for the serious situation that 
had arisen. But India’s generous gifts to other 


MARCHING ORDERS 223 


spheres of activities had bled her of the where- 
withal to meet this, her own immediate need. 

In feverish haste contingents were dispatched 
and hustled over the sea, through the Gulf and up 
the river. In view of the supposed precarious con- 
ditions in Kut, fragments of units were patched 
together and sent forward, sometimes unaccom- 
panied by the medical equipment from which they 
had been separated in the exigencies of hasty and 
faulty transport—and all this in an area of ex- 
traordinary difficulty, where dry land had become 
anything from a marsh to a lake, where floods 
swept away bridge after bridge across the river, 
where any extension of operations must constantly 
recede from the only base of supplies, and where 
rascally Arabs harassed whichever side offered the 
greater hope of booty. The news that filtered 
through to India was disquieting, and the contin- 
ued want of success lowered British prestige all 
through the spring of 1916. 

Dorothy Maxwell had from the first followed the 
trend of events with intelligent interest. The 
knowledge acquired from Indian and Home news- 
papers was augmented by Major Sutherland’s com- 
ments in his letters. Because of inside informa- 
tion, he had long been apprehensive about the 
‘“*Mespot muddle.” He was aware that the med- 
ical and surgical outfits were deplorable, and let- 
ters from an I. M. S. friend in the thick of it only 
corroborated his own surmises. Even his usually 


294 RED BLOSSOMS 


imperturbable optimism was shaken, and in spite 
of the great personal joy that had come into his 
life, his letters showed the strain that he was 
suffering. 

Until now, Dorothy’s anxiety had been patriotic 
rather than personal. But The-One-Who-Mat- 
tered-Awfully-Now was linked up with the war, 
appallingly linked up, so that everything that oc- 
curred in Mespot touched her to the quick. If this 
vigorous campaign were successful and ended 
quickly, then perhaps he would not have to go. 
But as news came through of the vain attempts to 
relieve Kut, and as more and more reinforcements 
were demanded from India, she began to under- 
stand the pangs of apprehension that other women 
had suffered for a year and a half. 

And through all this anxiety was the question 
as to whether it was right for her to marry now. 
It was all so new, so strange, that she craved time 
to get accustomed to the thought of it. She was 
naturally slow to see life from a new angle. She 
had been slow in accepting a new experience. Now 
she was slow in solving the new problem involved. 
Night after night she sat on her secluded verandah, 
whispering her perplexities and doubts in Spunky’s 
appreciative ear, but coming no nearer a satisfac- 
tory solution. 

On April 4, as she was preparing to go to Ma- 
hableshwar, a bomb fell in the shape of a telegram: 


MARCHING ORDERS 225 


‘“Ordered mespot april nine would like mar- 
riage at alexanders april six please prepaid reply 
letter following sutherland.” 


Dorothy had to re-read the mystifying message 
several times before its meaning was clear to her. 
Then it was painfully clear. Patrick going imme- 
diately to Mesopotamia! Her heart smote her. 
Who was she that Providence should keep her loved 
one from the duty that he, like other men, craved? 
She only now realized how fervent had been her 
hope that somehow or other The-One-Who-Mat- 
tered-Awfully-Now would mercifully be spared to 
her, and that after a conscientious fulfilment of her 
five years’ engagement at Anamabad, she could 
complacently marry him. But Providence had not 
seen fit to fall in with her laudable plans. 

Dorothy Maxwell was one of those complex 
characters who are very ordinary in ordinary 
times, but at their best in an emergency. It was 
too late to send the wire now, so she had all night 
to think over the proposition. But it was quite 
unnecessary. She knew instantly what she must 
decide. 

She unlocked one of the drawers in her desk, 
and took out a little old, sandalwood box. Its fra- 
grance never failed to soothe her, for it was asso- 
ciated with those she had loved best—in fact, with 
the only persons she had ever really loved until the 
advent of the one who now overshadowed all else. 


226 RED BLOSSOMS 


She drew out a few fragile, faded letters tied with 
blue ribbon, opened them carefully and spread 
them on her desk. Then she unfastened the locket 
from the chain round her neck. She studied her 
father’s face, as she had done a hundred times 
before. It was a good face, frank and manly and 
determined. The jaw reminded her quite a little 
of Patrick’s. She turned over the locket and kissed 
the sweet, modest little lady whom her father had 
loved. Perhaps it was Mehitabel Jefferson’s diffi- 
dence that had made it so hard for her daughter to 
give her heart away. 

With the locket clasped in her hand, as she used 
to clasp it in times of childish heartburnings, Doro- 
thy read over her father’s love-letters, as she had 
done so often lately. Her expression was that of 
a young acolyte handling the sacred vessels. The 
human heart in its deepest depths is holy ground, 
and even the most reverent intruder is constrained 
to take the shoes from off his feet. Peter Maxwell 
had poured out his impetuous young heart to the 
woman he loved. He had been ready to abandon 
his calling, if need be, for the love he bore her. 
Little did he think that his burning words, thirty 
years after they were penned, would strengthen his 
own child in similar circumstance. 


XXV 
MARY ANNE ELIZABETH PERKINS 


dear presences had in very truth laid unseen 

hands upon her and blessed her, Dorothy 
Maxwell by and by locked away her treasures 
again and went over to see Miss Perkins. She 
found her writing in her office, so rapped on the 
door as she entered. 

“Well? ” asked Miss Perkins, looking over her 
large spectacles and holding her pen uplifted in 
her hand as a sign that she was busy. 

‘““T have something rather important to say to 
you,” began Dorothy. ‘‘ But I shan’t keep you a 
moment.” 

“Well? ” With a sigh and a clatter the pen 
was thrown down. 

“You know, I was planning to leave here for 
Mahableshwar on the sixth, Wednesday.” 

eoWelle:? 

‘“‘T find I must leave to-morrow evening instead, 
but [ll hurry round in the morning and put every- 
thing right.” 

“Well? ” 

‘“T’m going to Bombay first. ’m going to marry 
Major Sutherland. I do hope you will come with 

227 


[esr reenes comforted, as though the 


228 RED BLOSSOMS 


me, Miss Perkins, and I would like Susanbai too, 
if possible.” 

The little figure straightened itself in the high- 
backed chair. 

‘“‘ You’re—going—to marry—Major Sutherland! 
H’m, I thought as much. The first minute I set 
eyes on you, I knew you weren’t a real missionary.” 

The younger woman flushed painfully but. con- 
trolled herself. 

Miss Perkins was purple with indignation. For 
once she seemed to be unable to speak. She tugged 
at the India-rubber collar as though it choked her. 
Dorothy felt it useless to prolong a painful inter- 
view, so with a dignified “‘ Good night,” she with- 
drew. 

As she walked smartly over to her own bunga- 
low, her heart was hot within her; and lonely, 
motherless Dorothy longed, as she had longed since 
childhood, for a motherly shoulder to lean on, that 
she might cry away the ache. But now she blinked 
back the tears and resolutely put away the thought 
of the unpleasant episode. Miss Perkins’ God was 
not so hard nor so un-understanding as some of His 
devoted children. And her thoughts flew to the 
future, and to the one who did understand. In 
thirty-six hours she would see him, and in a few 
more she would take his name. 

Dorothy decided to pack what she could at 
once, as the next day would be full of business. 
Spunky, as usual, sulked at the appearance of her 


MARY ANNE ELIZABETH PERKINS 229 


suitcase, and tried to prevent further operations 
by sitting down in it every time she turned away. 
She laughed as she lifted him out and finally, tak- 
ing him in her arms and giving him an extra hug, 
she explained how she simply must go, as it was 
very important business. After this Spunky was 
a little more reconciled, but he lay under her desk, 
nose on forepaws, and watched her proceedings 
with reproachful eye. 

There was neither time nor inclination for elabo- 
rate satin gowns in war-time. Dorothy smiled as 
she folded a simple white dimity. How little she 
had dreamed, when it was made by the little dress- 
maker in Sayton, Mass., that it would be her wed- 
ding dress! 

It was after midnight when she finished her 
preparations. Then a sudden doubt crossed her 
mind. What was it that weird telegram had said? 
If they were to be married on the sixth, Patrick 
could not get any wire that she might send to Bel- 
gaum to-morrow. He would be on his way to 
Bombay. He must mean that she should wire to 
the Alexanders. She had better verify it. She 
looked for the pink paper but could find it no- 
where. Then she remembered that she had taken 
it in her hand to Miss Perkins. She must have 
laid it down on the table, and in her agitation, for- 
gotten to lift it. Now, Miss Perkins shut her office 
door early in the morning, and did not allow any- 
one to disturb her until eight o’clock. But the 


230 RED BLOSSOMS 


telegraph office was open from seven to eight! She 
had better slip across and get it now. 

Dorothy shut her indignant Spunky into her 
dressing-room lest his joy over a midnight stroll 
with his mistress might become vocal. ‘Then she 
threw a shawl round her shoulders, took a lantern, 
and walked softly over to the other compound. 
She hoped that the watchman would not take her 
for a burglar and give the alarm. She need have 
had no fear. Loud snores from the verandah indi- 
- cated his whereabouts. He half sat, half reclined 
against the wall. His lantern, with lowered wick, 
cast a fitful gleam over his red turban, over the 
grey blanket wrapped about him, over his uncon- 
scious features and open mouth. His staff was 
propped against the wall, and the whole compound, 
with its female treasures, lay unprotected. Doro- 
thy smiled as she passed within a foot of him, and 
tiptoed along the verandah and in through the 
open door of Miss Perkins’ office. 

As she lifted her lantern to scan the table for 
the missing telegram, Dorothy became aware of 
another voice. It had been effectually drowned 
by the stentorian snores from outside, but was now 
distinctly traceable to Miss Perkins’ bedroom 
which adjoined the office. It was her voice. Was 
she reading? The voice sounded thick and la- 
boured. Perhaps she was ill and trying to call 
for help. Laying down her lantern, Dorothy 
slipped over to the curtained door and listened. 


MARY ANNE ELIZABETH PERKINS 231 


The tone was muffled, but the intruder’s straining 
ears caught the gist of it. 

‘“‘ Aye, I mind Jock Wilson. A bonnie lad was 
Jock. Aye, an’ he thocht me a bonnie lassie. He 
used to say I had the brightest black eyes in a’ the 
parish.” 

Was she dreaming? Was she talking in her 
sleep? Dorothy drew aside the curtain and peeped 
in. Miss Perkins, still dressed in her black alpaca, 
was kneeling by a chair. She was dimly silhou- 
etted by the light from a lantern in the corner, 
which threw a gigantic shadow on the wall and 
ceiling. She was rocking to and fro, and the fan- 
tastic shadow rocked to and fro in unison. 

The monotone went on: ‘ I knew fine Jock was 
just near askin’ me, when along comes a feckless 
hussy, wi’ yellow hair a’ crimped an’ frizzed an’ 
tossled oot, an’ a big silly laugh. An’ she stole ma 
man. Aye, an’ Jock Wilson lived to rue the day 
he first set eyes on Maisie Mackintosh. But nae- 
body kent I was hurt. I joked an’ flirted wi’ a’ 
the lads. But I grat when naebody saw it. And 
now, in my self-righteousness, I condemn this poor 
child for marrying the man she loves, as though 
it were a mortal sin—an’ I near committed it my- 
sel’. Forgive me, O Lord, and help me to rule my 
tongue, and purge Thou me. . a 

The listener let the curtain drop as though a 
scorpion had stung her. With noiseless step she 
slipped out, snatching the pink paper from the 


232 RED BLOSSOMS 


desk as she passed. She had been an unwitting 
intruder. She had heard Miss Perkins praying, 
humbled in sackcloth and ashes. Yes, indeed, 
there was a heart somewhere under that alpaca 
bodice, and she had seen it bleed. When she 
reached her room, she flung herself down on her 
knees and thanked God for the balm He had 
poured into the raw wound. 


Next morning, as Dorothy was taking her 
nurses’ class, she heard Miss Perkins’ swish-swish, 
and involuntarily straightened herself. The round 
face and enormous topi peeped round the door, and 
the brisk voice called, “I just looked in to ask 
whether it was the mail or the passenger that we 
take to-night.”’ 

‘““I was planning for the mail, Miss Perkins,” 
replied Dorothy, controlling an almost irresistible 
impulse to rush and embrace the heroic little figure. 

“Will there be room for Susanbai and me in the 
motor, with all our luggage, or had I better order 
the dumny?.” 

‘“There’s plenty of room for us all. We’ll leave 
at seven-thirty sharp.” 

“ Right-o!” The umbrella was brandished in 
adieu, and the steps died out in the distance. 

Miss Perkins had turned out trumps after all. 


XXVI 
THE WHEELS OF TIME 


HE wedding was a simple affair in the 
Alexanders’ bungalow, with just a few 
intimate friends present. Mrs. Talbot 
pinched Dorothy’s cheek and remarked slyly, 
“It’s I who have acquired a big brother!” Mrs. 
Sandeman beamed with satisfaction at the con- 
summation of what she had begun to hope for on 
the boat. Miss Perkins quite surpassed herself. 
She had unearthed from some unsuspected treas- 
ure-trove an ancient black silk dress. For once 
she had discarded the India-rubber collar, and 
wore a real lace jabot. On her hands were black 
silk mittens. On her scanty grey locks, a bow of 
lavender ribbon was perched at a positively rakish 
angle. 

Miss Perkins looked so cordial when she offered. 
her congratulations to the bridegroom, that he 
seized the quaint figure and bestowed a hearty 
kiss on the ruddy cheek. The bride trembled for 
the consequences, but Miss Perkins said briskly, 
“Thank you kindly, young man, but you’d better 
reserve these demonstrations for your young wife.” 

“Plenty more left,” he replied, and Miss Per- 


kins chuckled at his wit. 
233 


234 RED BLOSSOMS 


Then followed two days in a friend’s bungalow 
away out at Mahim by the sea—two days to be 
succeeded by how many months, how many years 
perhaps of separation? 

On the second day Dorothy sat alone, counting 
the few hours that remained. Her soul was filled 
with remorse and self-reproach. Why should she 
have been so slow to understand, so slow to re- 
spond, so slow to accept? To think that she had 
given a lonely man only two days of companion- 
' ship when it might have been three months—three 
months of halcyon memories that would have been 
as refreshing as the shadow of a great rock and 
wells of water in the dry and thirsty land of sepa- 
ration that lay before them. But it was too late. 
The wheels of time cannot turn back because we 
poor mortals repent our decisions and would fain 
claim the privilege of altering them. 

And as Dorothy prayed for forgiveness for being 
so stupid, so stiff-necked, so self-righteous, the 
answer came. 

A quick step beside her, an embrace, an excited 
whisper in her ear, ‘‘ Dear, what do you think? 
My marching orders are cancelled!” And in the 
sudden relief she broke down and cried as though 
her heart would break with joy. 

For her, the wheels of time had surely turned 
back. 


XXVIII 
THE PARTING OF THE WAYS 


crepancies, of anachronisms: a land of flat 

hot plains and of snow-capped mountains, of 
rich soil and of poor crops, of appalling ignorance 
and of keen intellect, of abject poverty and of 
fabulous wealth: a parched dry land which yet 
experiences excessive rainfall. Nowhere can one 
find in such small compass so many disconcerting 
differences of climate, peoples, tongues, social con- 
ditions and religious ideals. 

India has learned from long and bitter experi- 
ence to dread a lack of rain, with the consequent 
failure of crops and the assurance of famine prices. 
If the Rains tarry beyond the middle of June, the 
farmers in the Deccan begin to wonder what can 
have displeased their gods. Sacrifices of goats and 
sheep may bring the tardy blessing, otherwise the 
precious moisture may be withheld until it is too 
late to sow the first crops. 

But sometimes the gods like to play a little joke 
by being over-kind. They pour down with lavish 
hand enough water to make two good seasons, if 
properly distributed, but enough to flood and ruin 


the land when it thus comes all at once. 
235 


| =: is a land of contradictions, of dis- 


236 RED BLOSSOMS 


In 1916 the gods were in a mischievous mood. 
Their water bags seemed inexhaustible. Instead 
of looking with anxious eyes each morning to see 
a Cloud even as big as a man’s hand upon the hori- 
zon, the farmers gazed in trepidation at the heavy 
sky. They besought and coaxed and exhorted 
their gods, that their over-generous hand might be 
withdrawn. But no, the gods were enjoying their 
little joke thoroughly. 

The rains came and the floods descended with- 
out abatement. Seed was washed out of the 
ground. Young plants that had struggled bravely 
above the surface were beaten down and lay prone 
and defeated on the sodden ground. The wells 
were overflowing. No creaking pulley indicated 
where the bullocks were pulling up the heavy 
leather bags, and distributing the water into the 
quaint little earthen runnels that form the primi- 
tive mode of irrigation in normal times. The chan- 
nels were swamped and the fields were sodden 
marshes. It was dis-irrigation that was the hope- 
less problem facing the farmers. 

But it was not only the floods and the agricul- 
tural outlook in certain areas that depressed India 
during the latter half of 1916. News from the 
Mesopotamian front was extremely disquieting. 
Kut had fallen, and with it British prestige. Ef- 
forts to regain it were all proving abortive. The 
season had been a trying one for the troops. Sun- 
stroke, cholera, dysentery and typhoid had taken 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS 237 


a heavy toll. Transport and supply and medical 
and surgical measures, though improving, were still 
far from satisfactory. India was held responsible 
for the expedition and was doing her best to make 
good the deficiencies, but she had not the where- 
withal and could not obtain it from the Home 
Government. 

Dorothy Sutherland sat in a swing couch on a 
verandah in Poona. <A heavy rain had fallen 
through the day, but a wind had risen as the sun 
went down, had cleared away the clouds, and had 
settled itself into a cool, pleasant breeze, wafting 
the fragrance of the Indian night. The katydids 
buzzed and the brain-fever bird raised his inces- 
sant crescendo in the trees of the compound, while 
from the room near by came ominous sounds—the 
tramping of boots, the pitter-patter of bare feet, 
the banging of trunks, the dragging of heavy ar- 
ticles over the floor, the swishing of leather straps 
—those signals of impending separation which, 
like two-edged and exquisitely sharpened knives, 
pierce and lacerate the shrinking heart of women. 

Yet a tremulous smile played over Dorothy’s 
face as she lay back in the corner of the couch, 
with Spunky curled up on her lap and his cold 
nose poked under her arm for shelter from the 
wind. She was thinking back over those last four 
months which, in the broader and more patriotic 
outlook, had been full of disaster, but which yet 
had brought to her personally a richer happiness 


238 RED BLOSSOMS 


than she had ever even dimly imagined, and in 
which she had learned the depths of the human 
love she had nearly spurned, a human love that 
had taught her much of the divine. 

It was the prosaic matter of a diphtheric throat 
that had caused the reprieve, for a kind Providence 
can work miracles and bring to pass spiritual 
blessings by the most mundane means. So there 
was no Mahableshwar, no chupper at Geranium 
Lodge, as Dorothy had planned, but a four- 
months’ honeymoon that had made even Poona in 
the hot season an earthly paradise. 

And in her gratitude for her own amazing good 
luck, Dorothy had cast about to help some one 
less fortunate than herself. Finding a tired little 
missionary nurse on the verge of a breakdown, she 
had packed her off to her own quarters in Mahab- 
leshwar and had taken charge of her hospital. She 
was glad of this occupation for her mind, other- 
wise, as she told Patrick, she might be in danger 
of developing into the silly, sentimental type of 
female who has no interest in life but to fuss round 
an adored husband! And this good deed of Doro- 
thy’s redounded, as good deeds occasionally do, to 
her own advantage and in a most unforeseen 
manner. 

When April and May passed and there was no 
date fixed for the Major’s departure Dorothy was 
thrown into perplexity as to whether her duty 
lay in Poona with her husband, or in Anamabad 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS 239 


with Miss Perkins. But Miss Perkins, who had 
actually been persuaded to spend a long week-end 
with Dorothy, hit upen the brilliant solution of 
asking the nurse to go to Anamabad for a few 
weeks and let Dorothy carry on as before in the 
Poona hospital. And this plan met with every- 
body’s approval. 

But time had slipped away all to quickly. The 
pleasant sojourn in Poona was over. The pack- 
ing was proceeding apace. There was no hope of 
a second reprieve. Dorothy was to catch a mid- 
night train to Anamabad. The Major was to leave 
for Bombay in the early morning en route for 
Mespot. Yet the woman’s eyes were dry and her 
uppermost feeling was one of profound gratitude 
for the memories that would enrich all the future. 

‘‘A penny for your thoughts, Honey,” said a 
quiet voice over her shoulder. 

“ Tl tell them for nothing though they’re worth 
a fortune tome. Are you finished? ” and Dorothy, 
dislodging an indignant Spunky from his seat, 
made room for her husband in the corner of the 
couch. 

‘All finished. Everything is ready. Your 
heavy baggage is on its way to the station now, 
and the boy will get your ticket for you. The 
small stuff is on the verandah. At eleven precisely 
the car will be at the door. It is just ten now, so 
we’ve exactly an hour. I want to share some of 
your thoughts, dear.” 


240 | RED BLOSSOMS 


Dorothy curled herself up in a ball, leaned 
against the comforting khaki shoulder, and played 
with Spunky’s ears as he sprawled on his beloved 
master’s knee. ‘I hardly know where to begin, 
Patrick. If I told them all, I should talk for 
weeks. But Ill tell you one thing. And I do hope 
you won’t be offended.” 

“T think not. What is it?” 

“Just this—I’m awfully, dreadfully, fearfully, 
beautifully, horribly, terribly, unspeakably, ex- 
cruciatingly, exquisitely happy!” 

“You are? Im so glad, dearie. What makes 
‘you so horribly, terribly, et cetera, happy? ” 

‘‘ Well, I’m not happy because you’re going, of 
course. If by lifting my little finger I could get 
you to stay with me for ever, see!” and she lifted 
her finger and poked it, unintentionally, in the eye 
immediately above her head. ‘‘ Oh, I’m so sorry.” 

‘“‘ Don’t be sorry, dear. I both see and feel. It’s 
only my eye! Never mind, there will be lots of 
days ahead when [ll wish you were at hand to 
poke your finger in my eye—even if it does smart,” 
and he wiped away the moisture. ‘“ Proceed.” 

‘Well, you see, this gruelling parting is only 
temporary. The great big eternal fact that noth- 
ing can alter is, that we’ve had four months to- 
gether—-four blessed, blessed months.” 

‘“ Have they really been blessed, Dorothy? ” 

“I thought so,” she replied demurely. ‘Of 
course, I don’t know how you feel about it.” 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS 241 


“No, of course you don’t, you little imp,” said 
her husband, shaking her. ‘I see I haven’t been 
able to teach you proper respect for your husband, 
and true wifely self-abasement. By the way, did 
you see Mrs. Talbot to-day, as you expected? ” 

“T did. And do you know what she was telling 
mer A Maratha who used to know Mr. Talbot 
came to her the other day and said, ‘ Mudum- 
sahib, can’t you do anything to help us about this 
rain? We've prayed to our gods and we’ve given 
sacrifices, but they won’t listen. They must be 
offended about something, but the priests can’t 
find out what it is. Couldn’t your God help us? 
I'll give you a rupee for Him if you'll ask Him. 
But you won’t tell anybody, will you?’ ”’ 

The Major smiled. “It’s awfully pathetic,’ he 
said, “this reaching out for any chance help. I 
can’t help feeling sympathetic towards that sort 
of thing. I remember when I was a little chap, 
I dare say about ten, my father took me into a 
Roman Catholic cathedral to see the carvings on 
the chancel. I spied an altar to St. Anthony with 
a lot of candles burning before it, and a notice 
saying that whoever lit a candle would get two 
years off purgatory. It seemed a good bargain to 
me and well worth a penny, just in case there hap- 
pened to be such a place. My dad was a blue- 
blood Scotch Presbyterian, with a horror for po- 
pery, so I waited till he went round acorner. Then 
I made a dash for a candle, popped one of my few 


242 RED BLOSSOMS 


precious pennies into the box, and prepared to get 
my two years off purgatory. But just then dad 
peered round a pillar, saw what I was at, made a 
dive for my coat collar, and ran me out of the 
church, candle and all, and made me throw it in 
the gutter. I tell you, that was my first and last 
acquaintance with St. Anthony as long as my 
father lived.” 

Dorothy laughed. “ I think a good many people 
find purgatory right here on earth,” she said. “I 
suffered all the pangs of purgatory that night, the 
eighth of April, when I thought you were leaving. 
No pains of any real purgatory could be as bad as 
the stings of remorse.” 

* And then?” 

“Oh, you came with your reprieve, and I popped 
right into heaven again.” 

“It’s dear of you to say so, Dorothy. It’s been 
heaven for me to have a home.” 

“ By the way, Patrick, I’ve found a new defini- 
tion for the word ‘home.’ It’s not a house or any 
other structure made with hands. It’s the presence 
of some person to whom your coming in and your 
going out are absolutely vital. That’s why a 
mother usually makes a home.” 

“I think you're right, dearie. And that’s how 
you have made this old place a home—it was only 
a bungalow before.” 

“But oh, Patrick, this is my home,” and she 
laid her head against his breast and listened to 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS 243 


the heart beat. “I never had a home before. I 
never had anyone who cared dreadfully about my 
coming in and my going out the way you do.” 

And there fell a silence between them, broken 
only by the night birds in the compound, the dull 
hum of the traffic in the city beyond, and the creak 
of the chain as the couch swung gently backwards 
and forwards. 

“Dorothy, little girl,’ came the kind voice at 
length, “I don’t want to spoil your happiness. 
Forgive me if I do. But I’d like, just for a mo- 
ment, to discuss another contingency. May I? ” 

“Do,” said Dorothy bravely, but she shud- 
dered. 

‘‘ Just suppose, dear, that things don’t turn out 
the way we’ve planned. Suppose we don’t get to 
run our joint hospital. Suppose I don’t come back. 
What then? ” 

Dorothy did not answer immediately. She mas- 
tered a something in her throat and then said, 
‘“* Patrick, I’ve tried a hundred times to thrash it 
all out, but I simply can’t analyse my feelings. I 
determined not to let any fears for the future spoil 
the perfectness of the present.” 

“T’m glad of that, awfully glad. But I’d like 
you to promise one thing. Don’t let anyone put 
it into your head—Miss Perkins might, you know 
—that my death is a punishment. The God we 
love, the God Christ taught us to love, is not a 
monster who would give a good gift to His child 


244 RED BLOSSOMS 


and then snatch it away again in wanton wilful- 
ness. That is what the Hindus believe, that their 
gods give too much rain or withhold it altogether, 
all for a childish whim.” 

‘“ Nobody can make me believe that, Patrick. I 
want, want dreadfully to keep my gift, but—but 
if I should lose it I shall try to believe that there 
must be some good reason.” 

‘“Do, dear. It would probably mean that God 
had some plan for you in India where I wouldn’t 
fit in. People wouldn’t feel so bitter in time of 
sorrow if they could see the whole plan of their 
life laid out like a map. But they can see only 
one tiny, unhappy section of it, and they don’t 
have faith to believe that it is an integral part of 
a well-planned whole.” 

“But people often find out long afterwards that 
something just had to happen.” 

‘Exactly. And that’s where faith comes in, 
trusting when we can’t understand.” 

‘““And you, Patrick? ” asked Dorothy softly. 

“JT? Oh, I have a wealth of memories to carry 
with me. I can’t ever begin to thank you for 
what you have put into my life. But I want to 
come back, darling, I do want to.” 

‘“Oh, please, please, please come back, Patrick. 
You must,” whispered Dorothy passionately, cling- 
ing to him. 

They talked fitfully, and there were long, un- 
derstanding silences. 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS 245 


And then the shriek of a motor-horn rang out 
near them. Dorothy sprang up, startled. Hor- 
rible! There it was again. There it was again. 
‘““No more—no more,” its staccato notes seemed 
to say. “ No more—never more.” 

“Oh, Patrick, what is that? ” she cried. 

‘*'That’s the signal for us, darling. We must go.” 

One long, straining embrace, and then out into 
the cool, fragrant night. During the short ride 
Dorothy sat silent, clutching that strong hand as 
a drowning man clutches at a straw. But all too 
soon even that straw of comfort was gone, for they 
reached the prosaic atmosphere of the railway 
station. 

As Dorothy’s train pulled out, she leaned from 
the window and waved her hand cheerfully. She 
strained her eyes to absorb every detail, to print 
that last picture indelibly on her memory. There 
stood her husband under one of the glaring arc 
lamps. He was smiling and saluting. How big 
and strong he looked, how impregnable! When 
and how would she see him again? Oh, God! 
Then she flung herself down on the cushioned seat 
and let the flood of tears come. No need to stem 
it back now. She had played her part well. 


XXVIII 
MISS PERKINS GIVES A BIT OF HER MIND 


of supplies for Mesopotamia, Egypt, and 

East Africa, but as the dry dock to which dis- 
abled men and material were sent for repair. Doc- 
tors were indispensable for the hospitals and con- 
valescent homes that had sprung up on all sides; 
but the still more imperative need for them on the 
battle fronts had naturally first claim. 

Now, there was in India a large number of both 
Indian and European women doctors, working in 
Government or mission hospitals, or in private 
practices. Somebody suggested that this unused 
source of service be mobilized. The Association 
of Medical Women in India approached Govern- 
ment on the subject and offered its members for 
duty. 

Women doctors in charge of a military hospital? 
‘“ Impossible!” cried They-Who-Sit-In-The-Seats- 
Of-The-Mighty, and they shook their grey heads 
in well-bred disapproval. Mrs. Grundy lifted up 
her voice and shrieked. Fussy little Red-Tape 
darted hither and thither in consternation, tying 
himself into as many inextricable knots as pos- 


sible. But with patience and perseverance the 
246 


Le: was established not only as the base 


MISS PERKINS GIVES HER MIND 247 


startling innovation was carried through. The 
Women’s Medical Unit attached to the Royal 
Army Medical Corps became an honourable and 
well-established fact, and the hospitals which it 
was graciously allowed to run made splendid 
records. 

Dorothy Sutherland, being a member of the As- 
sociation, was invited to submit her name. She 
longed to do so. Yet it seemed almost criminal to 
abandon the work at Anamabad when it was pro- 
gressing beyond her most sanguine hopes and in 
a way that made glad the heart of Miss Perkins. 
Invitations came from villages many miles away, 
because a villager had been helped in the dispen- 
sary, and had spread abroad the news of the won- 
derful white woman’s magic “cures.” More and 
more crowds came daily to the dispensary, and 
more and more caste people were willing to be 
treated as in-patients if only there were proper 
accommodation for them. It was remarkable how 
many of the increasing number of converts and in- 
quirers could be traced directly or indirectly to the 
medical side of the work and its ramifications. 
The father of a fine male heir, the mother of a re- 
stored baby, the woman who had been saved from 
the dreaded fate of widowhood because her hus- 
band had been cured, the semi-blind man granted 
sight—these all carried afar the fame of the white 
doctor, and interest was aroused, in the religion 
that could make her leave her own country and 


248 RED BLOSSOMS 


friends to spend her life in a strange land and for 
the sake of strange people. 

When she received the invitation to join the 
Women’s Medical Unit, Dorothy was thrown into 
perplexity. She had to face the problem which so 
many other men and women had to face, namely, 
whether it were really more patriotic to rush to the 
glory of action, as impulse urged, or to stick to the 
everyday, humdrum routine which had only an in- 
direct bearing on the great issue of the war. 

The letter lay in her desk, giving her occasional 
pangs, but she decided to delay until she had time 
to thrash the whole thing out in the Hills. 

April and May of 1917 found her once more at 
Geranium Lodge. To her chagrin she had found 
that she could never by any chance hope to be a 
second Miss Perkins. She had proved by bitter 
and humiliating lessons that a disregard for the 
laws of fatigue and recuperation exacts a double 
penalty in the Indian climate, and that for the vast 
majority of people it is true efficiency, true econ- 
omy, to keep the human machine going at only a 
moderate pace. 

But in spite of the relaxation of vacation time, 
this particular problem refused to be solved. Per- 
haps Dorothy’s mind was too much occupied by 
the splendid news that began to come in from 
Mesopotamia. Improved transport and organiza- 
tion were beginning to bear fruit. The reoccupa- 
tion of Kut and the capture of Bagdad thrilled 


MISS PERKINS GIVES HER MIND 249 


India and gave her back her self-respect. Dorothy 
could hardly wait for the inner history of these 
triumphs which she knew would soon come from 
her husband. Of course, it meant more casualties 
and therefore more work to be done in the mili- 
tary hospitals. Perhaps it was her duty as well 
as her privilege to volunteer. After much vain 
thought and many discussions with Mrs. Talbot 
at Geranium Lodge and with the Alexanders 
through letters, she was still hopelessly undecided, 
and for once concluded to make Miss Perkins the 
referee. 

When Dorothy got back to Anamabad in June 
of 1917, she took, or rather made an opportune 
moment to broach the momentous subject. Miss 
Perkins loathed invitations as being calculated to 
upset her daily routine, and for months she had 
uncompromisingly refused to dine at Dorothy’s 
new bungalow. But an accidental discovery that 
Dorothy’s cook made delicious curry had entirely 
changed her view-point, and she had accepted with 
alacrity a timely and diplomatic suggestion that 
she dine each Friday at the other bungalow, in 
order to talk over mission problems with her col- 
league. For the first Friday after her return, 
therefore, Dorothy arranged a specially tempting 
repast with due regard to her guest’s weaknesses 
for Indian curry and sweetmeats; and when, on 
the morning of the crucial day, one of the Indian 
preachers managed with his ancient musket to 


250 RED BLOSSOMS 


bring down a fine buck, she felt that Providence 
was surely working for her. 

‘““T suppose you’ve heard about the Women’s 
Medical Unit, Miss Perkins,” remarked the crafty 
one after her visitor’s inner needs had been well 
satisfied. 

‘You mean the women bossing in military hos- 
pitals? ” 

‘Yes. I really was wondering whether it wasn’t 
my duty to volunteer.” 

Dead silence. It was at least better than the 
expected ‘“‘ stuff and nonsense.” 

‘You see,’ continued Dorothy a trifle apolo- 
getically, “Vm dreadfully torn both ways. The 
work here is going so well that it almost seems like 
tempting Providence to leave it. On the other 
hand, it would be a great satisfaction in after years 
to feel I had had the privilege of doing my bit 
actually in it.” 

The bright black eyes never left the speaker’s 
face. 

“T tried to puzzle it all out at Mahableshwar. 
I’ve thought of what Christ said: ‘ The poor ye 
have always with you.’ He seemed to think that 
a special occasion demanded a special outlay. The 
poor, diseased, needy Indians we will always have 
with us, I expect, but not our wounded boys. How 
does it strike you, Miss Perkins? ” 

“ Do you really want to know? ” 

‘“ Please.’’ 


¢ 


MISS PERKINS GIVES HER MIND 251 


‘“ How long is it since you were asked to join? ” 

“IT forget exactly when the notice came—some 
months ago.” 

“Well,” and the little figure sat bolt upright and 
spoke with emphatic staccato, ‘I think—you— 
ought—to be—black ashamed of yourself for not 
going long ago. There!” 

“Miss Perkins, what do you mean? ” 

“TI mean that it just makes my blood boil the 
way you young, able-bodied men and women sit 
still and complacent and smug in your easy jobs 
instead of flying, yes, just flying to the Front.” 

“But don’t you think some missionaries are 
needed to keep things going? ” 

“Of course—some missionaries. But old fogies 
like me could do that. We did it before you 
young rascals condescended to come out and help 
us. But here we are, urging our Indian Christians 
to join, and they say, ‘ But why should we go and 
be killed when the missionaries don’t go?’ And 
they mention Jones-sahib and Wilson-sahib and all 
these other poor delicate creatures that ought to be 
wrapped in cotton-wool. It just makes me sick.” 

“Then you wouldn’t mind my going? ” 

“Mind it? It’ll do far more good than your 
staying.” 

“Oh, how so?” asked Dorothy, distinctly dis- 
concerted. 

‘Well, we’ll get along as well as we can, with 
Susanbai. And I’ll spread it far and wide that the 


252 RED BLOSSOMS 


doctor lady has gone to serve His Majesty the King 
at risk of her own life. Ill make some of these 
idle, whining Indian Christian scamps sit up—see 
if I don’t,” and Miss Perkins’ energetic fist came 
down on the table with a bang that made the 
glasses tinkle. 

“I wish you could go yourself, Miss Perkins.” 

“Yd go in a minute if I were twenty years 
younger. But look at me. Imagine me in a mili- 
tary hospital. Wouldn’t I be a scream? ” and the 
tight bodice heaved up and down as its owner 
chuckled. ‘I dare say I could be useful, all the 
same. I’d spank the Tommies when they needed 
it. I’d hold their noses and pour the physic down. 
Couldn’t I now? ” 

“You certainly could,” agreed Dorothy, and 
she lay back in her chair and laughed aloud as she 
pictured the diminutive warrior in front of her 
spanking a row of six-foot Tommies, or dosing 
them as she dosed the struggling, yelling, splut- 
tering Indian babies! 

Everything thus being amicably settled, Doro- 
thy sent in her name to the Committee; and in 
August, Just a year after her husband had left, she 
was appointed to the Freeman Thomas Hospital 
in Bombay. 


Near the southern and narrow end of the Island 
of Bombay, not far from the sea on either side, 
stands an imposing building originally designed as 


MISS PERKINS GIVES HER MIND 253 


a Science Institute. Before it was completed the 
exigencies of war demanded it for a more momen- 
tous objective, and it was hastily made habitable 
and equipped as an excellent base hospital. 

The long, airy, well-lit rooms planned for labo- 
ratory work formed ideal wards, one surgical and 
seven medical. The eye was refreshed by the 
colour scheme of white and brown and green— 
olive green being the favourite colour of His Ex- 
cellency the Governor’s eldest son, in whose gal- 
lant memory the Freeman Thomas Hospital was 
named. The whole atmosphere was cheerful and 
eesthetic, and extremely restful after field am- 
bulance, camp hospital and hospital ship. The 
patients were usually a little startled by the nov- 
elty of being cared for by women doctors. Some 
were amused; some scoffed (in private); some 
were merely tolerant, in a superior sort of way; 
but few failed to become appreciative. 

From the first Dr. Dorothy Sutherland loved 
her new sphere of work. She was in charge of one 
of the medical wards and had a splendid assistant, 
Dr. Finlay, an Anglo-Indian who did much to cor- 
rect her impressions of the race gained from Mrs. 
Duff on the voyage out. Chiefly the patients 
were from Mesopotamia, and Dorothy’s heart 
warmed to the men. Had they not been a few hun- 
dred miles nearer the One-Who-Mattered-Awfully- 
Now than she herself? She even had the extra- 
ordinary luck to get into her ward her husband’s 


254 RED BLOSSOMS 


orderly, a kindly and imaginative Irishman who 
gallantly invented a great many highly coloured 
details of his Chief’s doings, for her special edifi- 
cation. 

Out of hospital hours, too, life was pleasant. 
When not on night duty Dorothy made her home 
with the Alexanders, and enjoyed lectures, con- 
certs, conferences, dinner-parties and other ameni- 
ties of civilization unavailable in Anamabad. But 
there was always that under-current of anxiety, 
that consciousness of divided interests. Those 
that give hostages to Fate can never, under any 
circumstances, be quite free. Yes, life was richer, 
infinitely richer because of encumbrances; but 
they had to be paid for at stupendous prices—at 
war prices, and in the coin of weariness, and lone- 
liness and heartache. 


XXIX 
A NEW BATCH OF PATIENTS 


OWARDS the end of the year letters from 

Mesopotamia were scarce. For six weeks 

Dorothy subsisted on the tantalizing regu- 

lation postcards with their laconic printed remarks 

about being well, receiving or not receiving letters 
and parcels and so on. 

But one morning, in the beginning of 1918, came 
the long newsy letter she had been hungering for. 
It had been written in October and therefor earlier 
than some of the recent postcards. But she was 
inured to the erratic time-tables of correspondence 
from the Front, and was content with the assur- 
ance that all was well. There had been some sick- 
ness in camp, but nothing serious. The Major was 
in fine form, pleased with the amelioration in the 
conditions of the troops and elated over their suc- 
cess In the rather tedious campaigning to clear 
the country north of Bagdad. The turn of the 
phrases, the humour, the enthusiasm, the optimism 
and yet the earnestness—it all made Patrick so 
near; and as Dorothy drove down to the Fort her 
mind was full of a presence the letter had brought 


unspeakably close. 
255 


256 RED BLOSSOMS 


Arrived at the Freeman Thomas Hospital Doro- 
thy found motor-ambulances standing at the door, 
and stretchers being carried within. The trans- 
port which had been expected yesterday had evi- 
dently docked early this morning. Preparations 
were all complete, she knew. She was to have 
twenty new patients. With professional interest 
she wondered about their symptoms, and with 
human interest whether they could give her news 
of her husband. 

‘““What about the new patients, Sister? ” she 
inquired as she made a preliminary tour of her 
large ward. ‘‘ Have you found any specially 
serious cases? ”’ 

“Not so far as I have observed, Doctor. They 
are mostly dysentery, not acute, but chronic. I 
hear there has been an epidemic in one of the 
camps. There are a few typhoids too.” 

Just then Dr. Finlay came briskly up. “ Ex- 
cuse me, Doctor,” she said, “‘ but would you mind 
looking at a patient they have just brought in? He 
is very far through, so we’ve put him in a private 
room. I thought you ought to see him at once.” 

“Certainly,” replied Dorothy. ‘‘ Pardon me, 
Sister. I shall be back directly,’ and she followed 
her assistant. 

“Ts it hopeless? ” she asked. 

“Quite. He can’t last many hours—typhoid 
with complications. Coma has set in.” 


A NEW BATCH OF PATIENTS = 257 


“Poor fellow, how sad just to reach land! Have 
you seen his record yet? ” 

“No, Doctor, but I have sent a nurse down for 
it. She will be here immediately.” 

They entered a small room. On the bed lay a 
patient with his head turned away from the door. 
Dorothy stepped softly round the foot of the bed 
and bent down over the limp figure. Then she 
staggered back, fell against her assistant and 
gripped her arm. ‘Oh no,” she moaned. “Oh 
no. Oh God, No!” She was deathly white. The 
room swayed about her, especially that languid 
form on the bed. It tilted up and down like the 
pendulum of a clock. 

“Are you ill, Doctor? ” whispered her com- 
panion. 

Dorothy shook her head and gripped the sup- 
porting arm more fiercely. She could not speak. 
Her eyes were riveted on that wan face on the 
pillow, the broad brow, the curly black hair, the 
closed eyes, the straight-cut nose, the hollow, un- 
Shaven cheeks. She felt petrified. 

Then the spasm passed. Her brain cleared. 
She steadied herself. 

“Please, Miss Finlay, leave me, and shut the 
door,” she gasped. 

As the assistant unwillingly and with question- 
ing eyes obeyed, Dorothy heard hurried steps out- 
side and an excited whisper: ‘‘ There’s been an 
awful blunder. Where’s Dr. Sutherland? Her: 


258 RED BLOSSOMS 


husb— . . .! Sh-sh.” The door closed hastily 
and the steps died down in the corridor. 

Leit alone, the agonized woman flung herself on 
her knees by the bed. She felt for the pulse. She 
turned back the sheet, laid her head on the breast 
that was its home, and listened with straining ears 
for the heart-beat. She pried open a closed eye. 
All the while her soul was crying out its unbelief, 
demanding that this awful thing simply could not, 
must not be; that this good man could not be 
spared from a world that needed him sorely; that 
her one precious jewel should not be snatched from 
her grasp. 

But the cold, clammy, incontrovertible fact 
gripped her consciousness that he had to die, that . 
he was fast dying, that no power on earth could 
stay the heavy hand of death already laid upon 
him. She must watch his flame of life flicker out 
before her helpless gaze. 

When Dorothy had accepted that fact, her 
whole being lifted itself in one long, impassioned 
appeal to Heaven, that if he could not live, then 
he be allowed to speak—to give her one last mes- 
sage from the threshold of the spirit world. Oh, 
he could not, he must not leave her like this, 
without a word, without a sign. 

She chafed the frail hand, the hand whose 
strength had so often astonished her. It fell back 
limp on the sheet. She wiped the moisture from 
the brow. She kissed the heavy lids. They flick- 


A NEW BATCH OF PATIENTS = 259 


ered perhaps? Her whole soul waited and prayed 
in an agony. Then she forced them open. But 
there was no flash of recognition in the once merry, 
twinkling blue eyes. They were dull, vacant, un- 
seeing. She whispered in his ear all the dear pet 
names she had learned to call him. She pleaded 
with him to come back and speak a moment—just 
a moment. 

Too late! Too late! 

A good man died at noon, and a stricken woman 
knelt beside him. 


XXK 
IN THE GREEN WOODS AGAIN 


NE of the prettiest gorges in Mahable- 
() shwar faces directly west. Its stream is 

tiny and nameless. In its course through 
the woods it expands into a placid pool which 
tradition calls the resort of wild animals. But 
civilization is fast encroaching on their precincts, 
and the tigers and panthers and bears that used 
to roam on these hills hardly venture near what the 
white man has appropriated as his playground. 

From the pool, a path proceeds to left and right 
along the face of the cliff on either side of the 
valley. The woods are a-twitter with the songs 
of birds; and a flash of green or blue or scarlet or 
brown will suddenly light up the grey expanse of 
the valley stretched below, as a bird swoops from 
one cliffside to the other. 

To-day the birds are avoiding a particular spot 
to the south of the pool. An inquisitive little bul- 
bul had alighted near a huge boulder, peeped 
around it, and then, with much hustle and bustle 
had flown off uttering his cry of warning. For 
behind the boulder he had discovered a foreign 


object, something that did not fit into his usual 
260 


IN THE GREEN WOODS AGAIN) 261 


scheme of Nature, one of that dreaded human 
species that sometimes shot down his castefolks or 
caught them and put them in cages to be glad- 
dened by their captive song. But the little fellow 
need not have been afraid, for his potential enemy 
sat motionless and unheeding, as innocuous as the 
stone against which she leaned. 

Now and again there would be a rustle in the 
bushes, and a small white dog, panting and hilari- 
ous, would rush down to his mistress, nestle close 
to her, and look about him, tongue hanging far out, 
with his ridiculous air of self-importance. She 
would smile at him, stroke him, and beg him to 
stay and comfort her; but though he loved her with 
all the devotion of his doggy heart, he simply could 
not understand how any sensible, self-respecting 
person could choose to sit still in a place like that, 
when there were so many entrancing trails to smell 
out just round the corner. So whenever he got 
breathed he would trot off, with his consequential 
swagger, on another exploratory trip. 

Then Dorothy Sutherland, with hard, dry eyes, 
would stare again in front of her, hardly noting the 
valley stretched below, the winding little stream 
that traversed it, the clump of green trees that 
marked a sacred grove, nor the waves of undulat- 
ing, bluish-grey hills that merged into the sky. 
She who had so loved this spot, who had so often 
found refreshment and inspiration in the vista it 
offered, was dead to its beauty. 


262 RED BLOSSOMS 


No sooner had she looked at the entrancing 
scene than a dim curtain seemed to fall before her, 
and from it gradually emerged the wasted features 
of a dying man, with eyes that could not see her, 
and lips that could give her no message. She 
watched the shadows cast on the hillside by the 
passing clouds, and she remembered some lines 
Patrick had taught her: 

“Light cloudlets hardly known as such 
Crept softly o’er the summer land 
In mute caresses, like the touch 
Of some familiar hand.” 

She felt her hand clasped in another that was 
warm and comforting and familiar, but as she 
thrilled to the touch, it gradually turned cold and 
clammy with the dew of death upon it. An expres- 
sion of horror would creep into her face, she would 
Shake her hand and desperately rub it on the 
ground, and gaze determinedly at the tangible 
things before her, but the landscape soon became 
blurred again with that vision that was stamped as 
by fire on her memory. The nightmare was ever 
present. 

The stricken woman had believed that the quiet 
of the hills she loved would bring the healing that 
her soul craved. But a week had passed, and she 
felt no respite. She tried to be honest with herself 
and honest towards God. She had tortured her 
weary mind with an analysis of her grief. She 
did not rebel against the fact of her husband’s 


IN THE GREEN WOODS AGAIN 263 


death. Before he left India, she had schooled her- 
self to realize the grim possibility. Thousands of 
wives had had to do so, and for thousands of them 
the possibility had materialized. She was only a 
unit in a great host of the bereaved and the deso- 
late. She could not kick against the pricks that 
had been meted out to so many. 

Yet she did ask why her one treasure—the only 
one she had possessed all her life, must be taken 
from her? Other women seemed to have so much, 
and she so little. Other women had had happy 
homes with father and mother, sister and brother, 
and then new homes of their own, with husband 
and child. But she had always been so lonely, so 
isolated. God had been a father to her, the father- 
less; and when He had set her, the solitary, in 
families, had she not been grateful? But now her 
gift was taken away from her. The good things 
of life had been given her for a brief moment and 
then snatched away. 

But the cruellest part of the bereavement was 
the manner of it. Surely no other woman had had 
the same awful experience of watching the beloved 
life go out without so much as a flicker of recog- 
nition. Could not a really loving God have spared 
her that seemingly useless anguish? If Patrick 
had died in Mesopotamia, then she could have re- 
tained unimpaired that last impression of him in 
Poona Station. She used to feel that if the war 
must claim him, she could always remember him 


264 RED BLOSSOMS 


as he looked then, so big and strong and capable. 
The memory had refreshed her in all the empty 
days of separation. Or again, if she had had the 
privilege of really comforting his dying hours and 
of knowing that her presence made the passing 
easier for him, then she would have thanked God, 
even in her agony. 

But it all seemed so futile, so unreasonable. 
The blessed impression had given place to one of 
horror. Try as she might, she could not visualize 
her husband as he was in normal days. She would 
strain and torture her memory to give her back a 
picture of him as she knew him best, but the 
features were always blurred, and if she insisted 
on limning them they would change, like super- 
imposed films, and assume the wasted outlines of 
that face on the pillow, that haunted her waking 
and her sleeping hours. 

Mrs. Talbot was a perfect companion for one 
bereaved like Dorothy. She, too, had experienced 
the anguish of seeing her house of life burn down. 
She knew that it was useless to rake among the 
ashes at once. She knew that only Time could 
give back blessed memories of what had been 
taken away. And she knew, too, that deep grief 
is only disquieted by pious platitudes, that even the 
most sympathetic friend is an intruder within the 
sacred precincts. Her calm, beautiful face and her 
quiet presence were unspeakably soothing to Doro- 
thy’s jangled nerves. The two friends would take 


IN THE GREEN WOODS AGAIN) 265 


long tramps over the hills, they would read or 
study or sew, they would talk on anything and 
everything that Dorothy suggested. But the relief 
was only temporary. 

On this particular morning, Dorothy had medi- 
tated, in her lonely vigil, longer than usual. When 
the sun appeared over her boulder and compelled 
her to change her position, she looked at her watch 
and discovered with a shock how late it was. She 
whistled for Spunky, and the two of them scram- 
bled up the path in record time. 

On emerging from the woods, Dorothy caught 
sight of a tonga just turning away from the bunga- 
low, and was amazed to see Ruth Alexander stand- 
ing on the verandah waving to her. 

Dorothy ran forward. ‘“ Oh, you darling,” she 
cried as she hugged her friend and shook her. 
“And to think I didn’t know, and didn’t meet 
you!” 

“All the fault of the post office, as usual, my 
dear. I wired yesterday afternoon, but Mrs. 
Talbot says the wire only came this morning after 
you had gone out. However, here I am, and here 
I mean to remain till to-morrow, if you can 
stand it.” 

“T think we can stand it,” said Dorothy, with 
a flash of her old spirit. ‘ But I never dreamed 
you could get away now, in January, with the kid- 
dies on vacation. How ever could you leave 
them? ” 


266 RED BLOSSOMS 


Mrs. Alexander was embarrassed. “TI hardly 
expected to get away just now,” she said, “ but 
circumstances arose. . . . Ill tell you all about it 


afterwards. You see, I’m taking it for granted 
that you’re going to let me have breakfast.” 

During the meal, Dorothy talked incessantly. 
The two women who loved her recognized the ex- 
citement, the feverishness, the abnormal flippancy 
in her conversation, as being so much camouflage 
to hide an aching heart. As soon as possible, 
Mrs. Talbot tactfully withdrew and left the two 
friends alone. 

“My dear,” said Ruth Alexander, drawing 
Dorothy down beside her on a wicker couch, and 
gently stroking the flushed cheek, “ how is it with 
your ”’ 

Dorothy was silent for a moment, debating 
whether she could discuss, even with this best and 
most understanding of friends, the tortuous paths 
of her own suffering. Then she laid her head on 
the motherly shoulder. 

‘“Pve thought, and thought, and thought it all 
out,’”’ she said slowly, “ but I can’t see any possible 
reason for the way things came about. I don’t 
think I rebel at the fact of his death, gruelling as 
it is. The last letter I had from him was so full 
of life and hope. And to read that, and be buoyed 
up and happy-——and then to go straight to hospital 
and find... . No, it wascruel. Ido and I shall 
rebel,” and she shuddered. 


IN THE GREEN WOODS AGAIN) 267 


“Then you mean, my dear, that if he had said 
good-bye to you, even in a letter, it would have 
been easier? ”’ 

“‘ Of course it would. Or even if I had had some 
word of his illness. But to watch his lips for 
hours, and pray and agonize for a message, and 
then to have him go without recognition—oh, Ruth, 
it is a constant nightmare. I can’t throw it off. 
I think I’m going crazy.” 

‘“ My dear, have no fear of that. It is only ten 
days since it happened, and you know that nobody 
can get his bearings in so short atime. The mind 
takes months to adjust itself to new conditions. I 
want to tell you something that has comforted me. 
I don’t know whether you ever heard that we lost 
our oldest child—a beautiful boy. There were 
rather tragic circumstances, which I can tell you 
about some other time. But anyway, when he 
died, an Indian friend wrote to me and said, 
‘Don’t forget that it’s the precious material that 
needs the most severe handling. Coarse clay needs 
only coarse modelling before it is fit for coarse use. 
Wood only needs whittling and polishing. Silver 
needs beating. But gold needs to go through the 
fiery furnace before it can make a vessel worthy 
of a.king.’”? 

“It’s a beautiful thought,” said Dorothy slowly, 
“but if I had to choose this minute, I’d choose to 
be wood or clay.” 

Ruth smiled sympathetically. “ It would cer- 


268 RED BLOSSOMS 


tainly be more comfortable most of the time. But 
there’s quite enough wood and clay in this old 
world. What is needed is more gold. You'll come 
to see that later on.” 

‘““T suppose so. I’m trying hard to be patient, 
but I can’t see light yet.” 

‘““My dear,” said Ruth slowly, “ lve brought 
you a little light. That’s why I came to-day. Will 
you listen first of all while I explain? ” 

Dorothy’s hands gripped her friend’s. She fixed 
her with a hungry, haunted look. She could not 
speak. She only nodded. 

“Yesterday morning,’ began Ruth, “I got an 
urgent ‘phone message from St. George’s Hospital 
—to go immediately and ask for Sister Heloise. I 
thought there must be some mistake, as I don’t 
happen to know anyone ill in hospital just at 
present. However, I went at once and interviewed 
the Sister. To cut a long story short, I was taken 
to see a patient—he was Captain of the last trans- 
port from Mesopotamia. He developed acute ap- 
pendicitis just before he landed, and had to be 
hurried to hospital and operated on immediately. 
In his delirium he was always talking about a letter 
and about somebody called ‘ Alexander.’ When 
he came to himself he asked for me and gave my 
address. He is in a very precarious condition, but 
he was worrying so much that they decided to send 
for me. He fixed me with an earnest gaze and 
asked whether I could prove that I was Ruth 


IN THE GREEN WOODS AGAIN) 269 


puexanden a iriend:dfias ?./ oth >). SOL YOUR: As: 
of Major Sutherland. I assured him that I was, 
and gave him several proofs. Then he took a let- 
ter from his pocketbook and handed it to me. He 
said he had made a solemn promise to deliver it 
into my hands first thing after docking. And, 
dear, it was in a familiar handwriting.” 

‘Oh, Ruth, Ruth, what did it say? Tell me 
quick. When did Patrick write it? ” 

‘When he was very ill, dear, when he knew he 
couldn’t get better. You see, he thought you were 
still in Anamabad. He hadn’t heard of your ap- 
pointment to the Freeman Thomas. So he asked 
me to send for you if he got to Bombay alive. But 
the important thing is, that he enclosed a letter 
for you.” 

“A letter for me?” repeated Dorothy. She 
seized Ruth’s shoulders in a grip that hurt. Her 
eyes were wide open and strained. Ruth’s kind 
heart was overwhelmed and her eyes filled with 
tears. 

“Here it is, my dear,” she said, drawing an 
unstamped letter from her handbag. ‘‘ May God 
bless you and give you a ray of light. I shall be 
in the next room, if you should want me,” and she 
slipped out and left the bewildered woman to find 
her ray of light. 

Dorothy sat gazing hungrily yet almost unbe- 
lievingly at the packet in her hand. She had seen 
her husband die. She had seen him buried. She 


270 RED BLOSSOMS 


had heard the dull, sickening thud of the clods as 
the grave closed over him. Yet now, in front of 
her, was a message from him—a voice as if from 
the Great Beyond. 

With trembling hands she opened the envelope, 
drew out a folded paper and scanned it. Draw- 
ings! Plans! Oh, plans for the hypothetical hos- 
pital, the hospital they could never build now. A 
pang of disappointment shot through her. Was 
that all? Was there no personal message? Was 
this another trick of Fate? Ah no, there in the 
middle of the package she found a sheaf of closely 
written sheets, mostly in pencil, and a new snap- 
shot. 

At sight of the laboured writing, at sight of the 
dear face in its health and strength, a salutary 
stream of gratitude poured through her soul, burst 
the floodgates, and washed away the bitter, stag- 
nant waters of resentment that had infested it. 
Letter in hand, she flung herself on her knees in 
an ecstasy of thankfulness, while her anguished 
heart at last found relief in tears. 

And the faithful friend, listening as the sobs 
subsided, thanked God too, for she knew that now 
all would be well. 


XXXI 
THE MESSAGE 


MEspot. 
Nov. 5, 1917. 


OROTHY, my DEAREST: 
LD You will not read this unless I have 
gone West, so you will understand the 
reason of the shaky writing and the disjointed 
style. 

I am lying in a small tent, expecting to be sent 
shortly to the transport. Oh, if only I might reach 
Bombay and see you before I die! It’s a forlorn 
hope, I’m afraid, but it buoys me up in my bad 
half-hours. Perhaps it is selfish of me to want to 
die in your arms. Perhaps it would be easier for 
you just to hear that I had gone, not to see me 
going. 

Dysentery had been raging in the camp, and I 
was kept so busy that I could not give up until 
typhoid had a severe grip of me. . There are com- 
plications, too, that add to the unlikelihood of my 
getting better. Of course, one can’t tell absolutely. 
Medical men can seldom diagnose their own cases. 
But I feel, dear, that all the chances are against 
us. We are not to have that life of service and 


comradeship in India that we had planned. Our 
271 ! 


272 RED BLOSSOMS 


joint hospital will never materialize. Iam to go 
on—to other service, I hope, while you are to be 
left lonely here. 

But it won’t be quite the same, dearest, as if we 
had never met? And you're not going to wish that 
I had never come into your life? You’re not going 
to feel that the anguish of parting blots out all the 
blessed happiness that came before it? Above all, 
you’re not going to confuse the mysterious ways 
of God with the arbitrary distinctions that narrow- 
minded men have set up for themselves, and espe- 
cially for others? ‘That talk we had on the veran- 
dah in Poona just before we separated, has been 
a perennial source of comfort to me. I do hope, 
dearest, that you can always feel just that way. 

As I have lain here in a good deal of pain, and 
shut out from the active side of life, I have seemed 
to get a clear vision of many things. Perhaps God 
has to lay us on our backs before we can find time 
to listen to all the wonderful things He is waiting 
to teach us. Modern life is so rushed and crowded 
with things to do, that meditation is getting left out 
of the programme. It is staggering to watch a 
crowd from a vantage corner. Men and women 
with hard, strained faces, scurrying to catch such- 
and-such a train, or gobbling a hasty lunch, or 
scanning the biggest headlines of their newspapers 
and trying to digest this tabloid form of world- 
knowledge—how far they are from the tranquillity 
of the men of old! 


THE MESSAGE 273 


I can never forget the noise of New York—the 
swish of the trolley cars, the rattling of the over- 
head trains, the roaring of the subways, the clang- 
ing of engine bells, the shriek of sirens, the pound- 
ing of motor-trucks! How cam men and women 
rest their souls in quiet and calm, how can they 
hear the still, small voice, in a world of jangle? 
How can they meditate, as the saints did of old 
when they led their flocks out to pasture and found 
God in the voices of Nature? Who has time to 
ponder nowadays on that God who could frame 
the heavens and put therein the sun and moon and 
stars? But here, in the wild waste of the desert, I 
have proved with delight how near the Great Pres- 
ence can come to those who tune their hearts to 
listen and learn. 


Later: 

How foolish of me, dear, to waste time and 
strength in declaiming against city life, when there 
is so much I want to say to you. I shall try to be 
more practical. 

Now first, as to this letter. I think the best way 
will be to give it to the Captain of the transport 
(I am on board now and very comfortable). I will 
enclose it in one to Mrs. Alexander, and he will 
deliver it in person whenever we dock. I shall ask 
Ruth to send for you if I reach Bombay alive. She 
will be a good friend to you. 

As to financial matters, these were all fixed up 


QT 4 RED BLOSSOMS 


before I left India. I have left my estate to you 
unconditionally, except a few small legacies—to 
my old nurse, and Meredith, my lawyer, will put 
everything right for you. 

Now, Dorothy, I know that life will be lonely 
for you. If, in the years ahead, a new love should 
come into your life, you will accept it, my dear, 
knowing that I would be the one to rejoice most 
in your happiness. Never for a moment believe 
that it would be a slur on my memory for you to 
make another man happy. I only wish, darling, 
that I could be your second husband. Dear me, 
how silly I am! 

In the meantime, however, I believe that salva- 
tion for you will lie in work—I should spell it in 
capitals, the way Miss Perkins says it, bless her! 
I want to make a suggestion. You may or may 
not care to carry it out. Why not start now and 
build a hospital in Anamabad? You could not find 
a needier district, and you have already won the 
confidence of the people. But I want you, Doro- 
thy, whenever or wherever you decide to build, to 
associate yourself with some Mission Board, so 
that when you are gone your independent venture 
will not fall to pieces, but will remain a part of the 
whole body of continuous mission work that is 
helping India. I think it would be a good plan 
to sell out my oil shares and take that: money for 
the hospital. Consult Meredith about it. 

I wish you could run Home for a few months, 


THE MESSAGE 275 


but it doesn’t look as if this restriction on women 
and children travelling will be cancelled for a long 
time. Whenever it is, be sure to take a few months 
off. The voyage itself will do you lots of good, and 
you will come back full of enthusiasm for the new 
hospital. It will take all your time and energy 
and thought, and leave you less leisure for griev- 
ing. And, dear, build into that hospital all the love 
and ambition that we were going to expend to- 
gether. Your life has taken a turn which we would 
not have chosen, but which we cannot alter. It 
may—it must in the end be better for you and for 
India that it is so. 

And now, little girl, we come to the great big 
vital question. What is going to be your attitude 
to me when I am gone? I don’t want to think of 
my dearest as fretting and mourning and feeling 
life of no account. JI want her to be glad of the 
past. I want her to feel that life is a bigger and 
more interesting affair because of the memory of 
our days together. And I want her to realize the 
unlimited possibilities of Memory. 

If you ever go to Kashmir, I know you will love 
the pleasure gardens that the Emperor Jehangir 
planted for the Light of his Harem. Please take 
particular note of the little one at Achabal, at the 
foot of the Lidder Valley. There are groves of 
shady plane trees, and cool stone rest-houses, and 
pots of shrubs and flowers, and pools of clear 
water. From a hidden spring in the hillside, in- 


276 RED BLOSSOMS 


numerable tiny cascades come tinkling and tum- 
bling down. The whole atmosphere, even in the 
heat of noonday, breathes peace and quiet and rest 
and cool comfort. I have often pictured the Em- 
peror throwing off the cares of state and the weari- 
ness of city life and speeding to the healing touch 
of Nurmahal’s love and beauty in this exquisite 
garden. 

Dearest, I wish that you could turn Memory 
into a pleasaunce, a place of quiet and rest, to 
which you can resort from the heat and stress of 
daily life. As I have lain prostrate and in pain, 
I have realized as never before the unspeakable 
gift of Memory. To think that, without moving 
hand or foot, one can live over again any pleasure 
he chooses, that he can transport himself as on a 
magic carpet to the uttermost ends of the earth! 
I have forgotten the heat and the dust and almost 
the pain, as I have roved in imagination in my 
favourite haunts. I have lain on the heather hills 
as I used to do in boyhood days, and watched the 
changing colours in the clouds and the mountain- 
side and in the loch below. I have strolled through 
the picture galleries and enjoyed the Great Mas- 
ters. I have roamed amidst the ruins of bygone 
empires and touched and handled the relics of for- 
gotten dynasties. Best of all, Dorothy, I have 
lived over and over again the blessed days of com- 
panionship with you, and thrilled in the comfort 


THE MESSAGE Q77 


of your presence. Memory has indeed made this 
desert to blossom as a rose. 

And this wonderful experience has made me 
marvel why people have not learned better to make 
a garden of their memories, a pleasaunce of flower- 
ing bushes and fragrant flowers, where no noxious 
weed is allowed to intrude and poison the air. It 
is so sad that people should make of their Memory 
a sepulchre, a place of desolation and mourning 
where selfish grief shuts itself off from the duties 
of life and thinks that in doing so it is honouring 
its dead. And why do people wrestle to get trivial 
messages from their beloved ones in the spirit 
world, when they can constantly walk and talk 
with them in the beautiful garden of Memory? So 
few people have learned the art of collecting happy 
memories. They collect old china and prints and 
books—all good and pleasant, but fragile and per- 
ishable. But happy memories are indestructible 
possessions, which nothing can take from us but 
disease or death. 


Later: 

Dearest, the strength is going and the light is 
failing. It must be good-bye now. Will you 
please plant a little Memory Pleasaunce, and put 
in it every memory that is pure and sweet and 
pleasant? Anything that hurt or annoyed you is 
to be thrown at once on your Forgettery. 

I remember, dearest, while we had that blessed 


278 RED BLOSSOMS 


hot season in Poona, how you talked about the 
gold mohr. I have often thought of it since then, 
and I think it is going to be a symbol for you. 
Right in the middle of your Memory garden I 
know there will be a patch of dry, barren ground, 
the ground of grief and bereavement. But, my 
dear, plant in it a great, spreading, glowing gold- 
mohr tree, and make its blazing red blossoms stand 
for love and service—for these often thrive best in 
the apparently parched soil of pain and disap- 
pointment. 

And you will find, darling, that your garden will 
be a source of rest and refreshment. To stroll in 
it will strengthen you for the daily round. Make 
it a little sanctuary to which you can retire from 
the heat, where you can lay down your burdens 
and relax. Throw away all the pain and anguish 
and disappointment, and come with a happy heart 
into our Memory Garden, and you and I shall walk 
and talk together as we used to do. 

Dorothy, my little girl, good-bye. 
PATRICK. 


XXXIT 
THE PEACEFUL GARDEN 


NE day near the end of December, 1921, 
() Anamabad was a-flutter with excitement. 
For the first time in its history, the morn- 
ing train had set down no less than a dozen sahib 
folk. A few others had come by road, including 
the Collector of the District and his wife. Not 
only so, but the Rajah of Kaisangoo was expected 
any moment. 

On the road leading from Anamabad past the 
railway station was a long stream of Indian pedes- 
trians, mostly of the poorer classes. Now and 
again a bullock-cart would rumble along, with its 
load of happy, gesticulating men, women and chil- 
dren out on holiday. Everybody seemed to be 
heading for the old cantonment bungalows, a mile 
from the city. 

Arrived there, the travellers found two large 
marquees erected in one of the compounds. Flags 
and banners and bunches of palm leaves were wav- 
ing from every vantage-point, and long strings of 
bunting were stretched between the trees and the 
buildings. In one corner of the compound a plat- 
form had been raised, and on it stood a table cov- 


ered with red cloth and decorated with flowers. In 
279 


280 RED BLOSSOMS 


front of it were ranged rows and rows of small 
Indian children dressed in pink cotton pinafores, » 
and near by stood a group of white men and women 
talking with each other. Crowds of Indians either 
squatted on the ground or strolled round, gazing 
up in admiration at the bright-coloured streamers. 
There was an air of suppressed excitement and 
expectancy. 

“Hi, there, young woman, can you tell me what 
all this is about? Who are these white folk and 
what are they going to do?” and a ragged old 
woman sitting on her haunches caught hold of the 
sari of a young woman who was hurrying past, 
carrying a large shallow basket filled with little 
nosegays. 

‘Why, old grandmother, don’t you know? 
What brought you here if you don’t know any- 
thing about it? ” 

“Oh, I’m a stranger passing through Anamabad 
on my way to my eldest son’s house. Somebody 
told me there was to be a feast here to the out- 
castes, so I came. Don’t tell me it isn’t so, for I 
haven’t had anything to eat since yesterday noon,” 
and the wretched old creature began to wail and 
pat her empty stomach with her withered hand. 

‘Don’t worry, old grandmother. You'll get a 
feast whenever the ceremony is over.” 

‘What ceremony? ”’ 

“Laying the foundation-stone of the mission 
hospital. We’re all ready to begin. We’re half an 


THE PEACEFUL GARDEN 281 


hour late already, but the Rajah of Kaisangoo 
hasn’t come yet, and we can’t begin without him.” 

‘Why, what has he got to do with it? ” 

“Oh, he’s very interested and very friendly. 
You see, his favourite wife took ill one night and 
nearly died, but Doctor-mudumsahib went and 
operated and saved her life.” 

‘“And how much money did the Rajah give the 
Doctor-mudumsahib? ” 

“He offered her a lot of money for herself, but 
she wouldn’t take a penny. So he gave ten thou- 
sand rupees for private wards, and he’s going to 
pay I forget how many rupees a month so that 
people from his state can come to the hospital.” 

‘“‘ Dear me, ten thousand rupees! And the Doc- 
tor-mudumsahib refused all that money for her- 
self? What a fool she must be! Or perhaps she 
is too rich already. Is she a ranee, a rajah’s 
wife? ” 

‘““Oh no, she is no ranee, and she is not rich. 
Her husband was a doctor, but he died in the war 
and left money for the hospital. And a rich mer- 
chant in Anamabad gave us that fine piece of 
ground just across the road from our compound, for 
a site. You see, Doctor-mudumsahib attended his 
wife six years ago when she had twin boys. Oh, 
there they are, over there, talking with Doctor- 
mudumsahib, that tall, fair lady,’”’ and she pointed 
to where a well-dressed Indian gentleman holding 
a little boy by each hand, was talking to Dr. Suth- 


282 RED BLOSSOMS 


erland. ‘Look, you see how mudumsahib smiles 
and bends down and talks with the little fellows 
and pinches their cheeks. Ah, she adores chil- 
dren,” and the faithful Susanbai wiped away a sur- 
reptitious tear with the corner of her sari. 

Just then a prolonged blast of trumpets heralded 
the approach of the tardy guests. “Oh, there 
comes the Rajah. I must run. Salaam, old 
grandmother, I’ll see that you get plenty to eat at 
the feast,’ and Susanbai hurried towards the plat- 
form as a gorgeous azure blue car picked out with 
gold stripes, dashed into the compound. 

The Rajah of Kaisangoo alighted—a resplendent 
figure in his lilac satin coat covered with heavy 
gold brocade, and his high purple turban with its 
aigrette and jewels. With him were two modest, 
shrinking female figures clad in shimmering silk 
saris, one of them green, the. other scarlet, and 
scintillating with bangles, anklets, necklaces, ear- 
rings and nose-rings. Dr. Sutherland and the Col- 
lector moved forward to greet them, and to intro- 
duce to them the principal guests. Then they took 
their seats on the platform, and the ceremony 
began. 

The children started off witha hymn. The Col- 
lector made a speech. Everybody moved over to 
where a low stone wall indicated the start of a 
building. The Collector’s wife, silver trowel in 
hand, laid the foundation stone. Mr. Alexander, 
in a beautiful prayer, dedicated the hospital-to-be 


THE PEACEFUL GARDEN 283 


in the name of Christ, to the cause of suffering 
Indian humanity and to the memory of a good man 
and a good soldier who gave his life for his country. 

The chief personages were garlanded with long 
wreaths of fragrant, damp flowers, and presented 
with tightly-packed bouquets. The humbler folk 
received each a nosegay and a little packet of 
crushed betel nut wrapped in pungent leaves. The 
platform party then went into one of the marquees 
for refreshments, while the rank and file squatted 
on the ground to receive the generous feast which 
a grateful Rajah had offered. 

By and by the marquee guests emerged. Most 
of them said farewell and drove off. Of the fav- 
oured few who remained, a middle-aged woman 
linked her arm in that of the Doctor-mudumsahib 
and walked with her towards her bungalow. 

‘Dorothy, my dear,” she said, “ I’m so happy 
for you. I feel sure that we had a crowd of un- 
seen witnesses with us to-day.” 

‘Of course we had—lI both felt and saw them. 
And do you know, Ruth, during Mr. Alexander’s 
prayer, I had a beautiful vision. I saw the hos- 
pital completed and crowded with patients, high- 
caste and low-caste too. And I saw myself moving 
about in the wards; and Ruth, Patrick was walk- 
ing with me, and helping me. It is going to be 
team-work, with an unseen but ever-present part- 
ner. And I saw a new Christian church, and new 
schools with better equipment, and a big, flourish- 


284 RED BLOSSOMS 


ing Christian community. And I also saw Miss 
Perkins and myself and the two new missionaries 
working together splendidly.” 

‘“ Tt’s all wonderful, Dorothy. And one of the 
most wonderful things is the way Miss Perkins has 
come round. What on earth worked the miracle? ” 

‘“A number of things—principally, I think, a 
bad attack of rheumatic fever when I was at 
Home. It was the first time in her life that she 
had been laid up. Everything went topsy-turvy, 
for nobody knew anything about anything, but 
herself. I suppose, too, that she had time to think 
things over. She realized that she’d have to give 
up the reins some day into other hands, and that 
it would be better for the work’s sake to do it 
gradually. Anyway, whenever she was able to sit 
up, she wrote and asked me to approach some re- 
spectable Mission Board on the subject of amalga- 
mation, and make all the necessary adjustments 
with Lady Brixton. She also asked me to bring 
out a new missionary to help take over the manage- 
ment. I smiled at her instructions—I was to find 
a young woman who was modest and sensible, not 
good-looking but God-fearing and amenable, and 
with not too many newfangled notions. I think 
these were the qualifications.” 

Ruth Alexander laughed. ‘‘ The one you chose 
fills the bill pretty well, I should say. But why is 
she to stay with you instead of with Miss Per- 
kins? ” 


THE PEACEFUL GARDEN 285 


“Oh, I suggested that,’ replied Dorothy. “TI 
knew Miss Perkins would be far happier alone. 
Besides, the nurse has to stay with me, and I 
thought the young folk would be company for each 
other. Ill just love to have them. I feel a per- 
fect grandmother compared to them.” 

“You're a great brick, Dorothy—an awful 
brick.” 

“Doctor, Doctor, hi, Doctor!’’ shouted a fa- 
miliar voice behind them. They turned round and 
found Miss Perkins running after them, red-faced 
and panting. Her topi was askew and she was 
brandishing her umbrella. ‘‘ Wait a moment, Doc- 
tor. I’ve something to say to you.” 

Ruth Alexander walked on. 

For once in her life, Miss Perkins did not look 
straight at and through her listener. Her beady 
black eyes were sparkling with tears which she 
blinked resolutely back and simply would not 
allow to run over. She gazed fixedly at some un- 
determined point on the horizon, and punctuated 
her remarks with an occasional sniff and an ener- 
getic tap of her umbrella on Dorothy’s arm. 

“Tl not keep you a moment, Doctor,’ she said, 
“for I know you must want to rest. But I’ve 
something on my conscience that I must get off. 
I did a thing to-day that I never did all my life 
before. I opened my eyes in a prayer and peeked. 
Yes, I did. When Mr. Alexander was dedicating 
the hospital, I was sniftering and blubbering like 


286 RED BLOSSOMS 


a silly bairn, and I couldn’t help peeking through 
my hanky to see how you were taking it. And 
your face was as the face of an angel, serene and 
consecrated and beautiful. And I just said to my- 
self, says I, ‘Mary Anne Elizabeth Perkins, you 
once thought that woman wasn’t a real missionary, 
and you said so, too—more shame to you. And 
look at her now. Compared to her, you’re a worth- 
less, battered, bashed-in, good-for-nothing three- 
penny piece.’ ”’ 

‘My dear, dear Miss Perkins,” cried Dorothy, 
“you mustn’t blame yourself. You were wonder- 
fully patient with the greenhorn I was seven 
years ago.” 

‘‘ Stuff and nonsense,—stuff and nonsense.” 

“Indeed you were. But never mind now. 
We're going to work splendidly together, you and 
I and our two new colleagues. They are fine girls. 
We'll be good to them, you and I, and make life 
just as pleasant for them as we can, won’t wee ” 

“ Right-o! Now I must run. God bless you, 
Doctor,” and with a final sniff and a parting 
pat with her umbrella, the devoted little heroine 
wheeled briskly off towards the other bungalow. 


Dorothy smiled as she walked on. Yes, her face 
was calm and her eyes dry and her head erect. 
But no one could ever have taken her now for an 
unsophisticated schoolgirl. No one versed in char- 
acter but could read the ineradicable stamp of 


THE PEACEFUL GARDEN 287 


anguish. But there was no bitterness, no rebellion 
in her heart now. She had come, through long 
hours of agonized wrestling, to realize that some 
characters can grow and thrive on the flowery 
plains of happiness, while some, like her own, can 
reach their full stature only on the lonely, barren 
mountain paths of sorrow. 

She had often smiled as she pictured the sensi- 
tive, limited, self-sufficient, undeveloped person 
named Dorothy Maxwell who had come to India 
eight years previously. That type was not what 
could do most for India. It was true that the Lord 
chastened those whom He loved. Was it not also 
true that He chastened those whom He needed? 
And if by reason of the chastening her life was to 
be more fruitful, could she grudge it? She felt 
now as if all her past life, and especially her first 
years in India with their extremes of joy and sor- 
row, had been just so much preparation, so much 
moulding of the substance of her soul as would 
make her a vessel meet for the Master’s service. 

And one of the compensations of the chastening 
was an indestructible possession. She had tried to 
follow the bidding of the Best Beloved. She had, 
often with tears, planted a garden of pleasant 
thoughts, and, in the middle of it, a great blazing 
bunch of the red blossoms of love and service. 
Over and over again the rank weeds of selfish sor- 
row would grow up like gourds overnight, and bid 
fair to choke off the fragrant flowers that had 


288 RED BLOSSOMS 


begun to bloom. With anguish had she weeded 
them out and thrown them into her Forgettery. 
The garden must be kept rigidly pure. Nothing 
that offended must be left for a moment. And by 
and by, the reward of her insistence had come and 
her capacity for judgment grew. 

And so Dorothy had acquired a little sanctuary 
of the mind. In the heat of the day she could 
drop her burdens and retire into her garden of 
pleasant thoughts, remembering always to pull off 
her shoes and shake the dust from her garments, 
lest any noxious weed picked up on the highway 
should drop on the fertile ground and take root. 
And there, in her garden, she could rest in the 
shade of the trees, and listen to the twittering of 
the birds and the tinkling of the tiny cascades, for 
the garden is watered by the spring from the hid- 
den source of Memory. 

So now, when the strain of the day was over, 
Dorothy Sutherland slipped away to her room to 
relax. She took up a photograph and kissed it. 
‘Thank you, dearest, thank you,” she whispered. 

Then she lay back in her lounge chair, closed 
her eyes, and entered her garden of pleasant 
thoughts. How cool, how refreshing, how fra- 
grant! A smile played over her face, as though she 
were in a delightful dream, as though she walked 
in goodly company—as indeed she did. 


THE END 


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